


a thin line between

by words_unravel



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: F/M, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-09
Updated: 2010-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The nightmares start about two days after Brendon leaves on vacation with Sarah.</i>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. master post

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sceaterian](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sceaterian).



  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:**   
|   
worried  
---|---  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic band: p!atd](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20band%3A%20p%21atd), [fic challenge: werewolfbigbang](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20challenge%3A%20werewolfbigbang), [fic pairing: shane/spencer](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20pairing%3A%20shane%2Fspencer), [fic prompt: burn](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20prompt%3A%20burn), [fic prompt: werewolves](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20prompt%3A%20werewolves), [fic type: bandslash](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20type%3A%20bandslash)  
  
  
_**a thin line between - master post**_  
 **a thin line between**  
~33,000 words // r // shane/spencer (main), shane/regan, brendon/sarah (secondary)  
[ _Prompt:_ completed for [](http://community.livejournal.com/werewolfbigbang/profile)[**werewolfbigbang**](http://community.livejournal.com/werewolfbigbang/); also completes the original prompt (Spencer/Shane, burned fingers) submitted by [](http://sceaterian.livejournal.com/profile)[**sceaterian**](http://sceaterian.livejournal.com/) for [](http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/) Round 2]  
[ _Beta:_ [](http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelgazing**](http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/), [](http://northernveil.livejournal.com/profile)[**northernveil**](http://northernveil.livejournal.com/)]  
[ _A/N:_ This fic plays fast and loose with canon (if it follows at all) and probably some science as well. Please forgive any indiscretions. Also, I'm slower than molasses and can't get anything done on time, so any mistakes are mine and have nothing to do with the always fantastic [](http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelgazing**](http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/).]  
[ _Summary:_ _The nightmares start about two days after Brendon leaves on vacation with Sarah._ ]

  


[Part One](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14092.html) | [Part Two](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14544.html) | [Part Three](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14674.html) | [Part Four](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14902.html)  


[Lethal and Young](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13603.html)  
a fanmix by [](http://roadmarks.livejournal.com/profile)[**roadmarks**](http://roadmarks.livejournal.com/)

  
[posted in main journal [here](http://prettykitty-aya.livejournal.com/388742.html) on 11/09/10]  
[x-posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/werewolfbigbang/13533.html) on 11/09/10 and [here on 11/10/10]](http://community.livejournal.com/bandslashmania/1765990.html)


	2. a thin line between - part one

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic band: p!atd](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20band%3A%20p%21atd), [fic challenge: werewolfbigbang](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20challenge%3A%20werewolfbigbang), [fic pairing: shane/spencer](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20pairing%3A%20shane%2Fspencer), [fic type: bandslash](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20type%3A%20bandslash)  
  
---|---  
  
_**a thin line between - part one**_  
[Master Post](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13906.html) | Part One | [Part Two](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14544.html) | [Part Three](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14674.html) | [Part Four](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14902.html) | [Fanmix](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13603.html)

 _At fourteen, Brendon gets his first wet dream and the ability to smell from thirty feet away whether or not Tyler Greensman took a shower that week. The dreams are normal, if not a bit embarrassing. The smell thing, however, takes nearly six months for him to master. Brendon just thanks god that the two are completely unrelated._

At sixteen, Brendon has mostly stopped believing in God, stopped believing in most everything his parents have put their faith in and what he's grown up surrounded by. He doesn't blame his loss of faith on that rare, recessive genetic trait that makes him completely different, but he's fairly sure that his parents do.

At eighteen, Brendon's been living in a crap apartment for nearly nine months. But a month later he's got a recording contract and a way out of Las Vegas. He doesn't speak to his family for another thirteen months, but being on the road with Ryan, Spencer, and Brent is enough most of the time.

Then he meets Shane.

~*~

The nightmares start about two days after Brendon leaves on vacation with Sarah. They're vague, blurry flashes of horrible things and Spencer has no idea why he can't get rid of them. Three days later, he tries a over-the-counter sleep aid and wakes up, voice raw. From screaming, he realizes, a few minutes later, after his heartbeat has settled around normal and he can breathe without taking in huge gulps of air.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his arms. The darkness answers with silence. A few minutes later, Bogart crawls out from under the bed and jumps up next to Spencer. He noses under Spencer's elbow and nudges a cold nose against his chin. Spencer curls a hand around the dog's head, scratching behind soft ears.

He doesn't go back to sleep.

*

Brendon calls during hour 33 of Spencer's foray into self-induced insomnia and even though Spencer assures him that everything is fine, there’s a slight slur to his words. Brendon reluctantly says goodbye and Spencer nearly misses the table when he goes to put the phone down.

Bogart shuffles out of his way when he turns toward the couch, but doesn't move far. It's kind of cool how the dog hasn't really left his side since that night, like he's doing his best to protect Spencer from his demons. Flopping down on the couch, Bogart's quick to jump up beside him and settle his head on Spencer's lap and Spencer returns the favor by running fingers over his fur.

With a sigh, Spencer leans back. It's a bad idea, but he's so _tired_. Two minutes later, he's asleep.

*

He's distantly aware of the shouting, the horrendous howl of whatever's chasing him through his mind. There's the pressure of something gripping his shoulder and Spencer lashes out. A second later the pressure's gone.

" _Ow, fuck!_ Shit, Spence, wake the fuck up!"

Spencer's eyes snap open to see Shane ass-end over the coffee table, Bogart prancing around him with the occasional yap-howl thing that Spencer recognizes from his dream.

"What the hell was _that_ , Smith? I get a frantic call from Brendon to come make sure you're okay and I walk in with Bogie howling his fucking head off and you thrashing around on the couch."

Bogart's doing his best to climb up Shane now that he's settled down enough to figure out that's who it is. Shane wraps an arm around him, putting him back on the floor.

"What the fuck?" he asks.

Spencer glances over and sees that he's only been asleep for about thirty minutes. It's just enough to make him even more tired, the adrenaline rush of Shane's appearance fading quickly.

"Bogie, knock it off."

The dog quiets immediately and Spencer pushes off the couch, reaching out to help Shane up. He stares at Spencer for a moment before sighing and accepting the help. Now that they're standing face to face, Spencer can see where he'd made contact. The corner of Shane's eye is red, the skin beginning to puff up.

"Shit," he mutters, guilt rolling through him. "Let's go get some ice for that."

He turns away, heading toward the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he throws a, "Sorry, man. You came in on the wrong part of a bad dream."

Hopefully his tone is nonchalant enough. He doesn't really want to talk about it, doesn't want it to be a big deal.

"No shit. Ow."

When he turns around, Shane is pushing on the swelling skin. He winces and Spencer slaps his hand away. "Quit poking at it, dumbass."

Shane gives him a rueful smile and Spencer can't help his fond eye roll as he steps away to find a towel. There's one left in the drawer and he makes a mental note to do laundry as he piles up some ice. Twisting the ends up, he hands it over. Shane winces again when it presses against his face, but gamely keeps it there.

There’s a smart remark on Spencer’s tongue, but before he can say anything, his stomach grumbles loudly enough to be embarrassing. It makes him realize that he hasn't eaten since early this morning. Shane grins at him and then makes another pained face when it pulls the skin at the corner of his eye.

Pushing him towards the table, Spencer starts grabbing sandwich fixings from the fridge. "Sandwich?"

There's an affirmative noise from the other side of the refrigerator door and when Spencer stands up, hands full, Shane is staring intently at him. Spencer focuses on setting the items in his hands down on the counter, then turns away to grab the bread from the pantry.

"Spence–"

He can hear the concern in Shane's voice, the curiosity. He doesn't want to talk about it.

"Turkey or ham? I've even got some of the vegan bologna that Brendon's keeps trying to tell me is actually good–"

He's halfway back in the fridge when Shane says his name again, quiet but intense. Shutting the door with a frustrated sigh, Spencer turns to look at Shane. He grinds his teeth together as Shane stares back at him. There's a sharpness in Shane's gaze that rarely makes a presence. It always unnerves Spencer a little, since Shane can be an intense guy, but usually only behind the camera.

Focused on Spencer, it feels like Shane's trying to get right inside his head. Spencer doesn't even want what's currently there and he definitely doesn't want his friends exposed to it. Even though he wants to, Spencer doesn't look away.

Whatever Shane sees on his face makes him frown, but his shoulders drop a little and a second later the corner of his mouth tilts up as he asks, "I thought Brendon gave up the whole 'vegan' thing a year ago?"

It's a concession, Spencer knows, but it's one he'll take.

With a snort, he replies. "It's mostly for Sarah. She's been trying it out for the last month or so." He grins at Shane. "With a much better commitment track record than Bren."

It's kind of sweet really, how Brendon shows his support of Sarah. When Spencer points out that Brendon spends more time at her place than she spends at theirs, Brendon just looks at him with stupid puppy eyes and says in a ridiculously earnest voice, "Don't you want to be a supportive friend, Spencer Smith? Hasn't Sarah been good to you?" So Spencer usually ends up putting the stuff in their shopping cart, trying hard not to break something rolling his eyes.

Shane laughs and Spencer finishes up the sandwiches. Sliding the plates down on the table, he moves to sit down, remembers chips and crosses back over to the pantry. When he finally does sit, he looks up to see a definite spark of laughter in Shane's eyes. He frowns.

"What?"

Shane shakes his head, reaching for the bag of chips and opening them. "I always kind of forget how much of a happy homemaker you are."

"Well," Spencer scowls and reaches a hand towards Shane's plate. "I can always-"

"No!" Shane grabs at his plate, nearly losing the bag of chips in the process. It wouldn't be the first time Spencer's retaliated when someone brings up his home-making tendencies.

"All right then, shut the fuck up and eat your sandwich."

Shane huffs and takes a huge bite. Spencer drops his gaze to his own plate, determinedly not noticing another wince. He digs into his own sandwich, eating slower than normal. The amount of caffeine he's been shot-gunning makes his stomach a little unreliable. He looks up to see Shane staring at him again.

"So what are you working on now?" he asks before Shane can ask any more questions.

The distraction works; Shane starts talking, hands waving around. His sandwich is dangerously close to losing its contents all over the table, but Spencer will take the mess.

>><<

Shane admits to great curiosity. The phone call from Brendon hadn’t really been frantic like he’d told Spencer, but there had definitely been something in Brendon's voice that worried him. Walking into the disaster that had been happening at the house, with Bogart making such a racket and Spencer in the throes of a nightmare, gave his worry a little validation.

It's late when Shane knocks on the door, late enough to be considered rude, but he can see lights on through the blinds. He knocks again, tensing when something clatters in the hallway. When the door swings open, he's expecting Spencer to look rough and he does, with the skin under his eyes so dark as to look bruised.

Shane can see Spencer’s about to protest–he's shown up at Spencer's for the last three days–but Shane holds up the bag in his hand and says with a winning smile, "Thai, Spencer. You can't turn down Thai, it's against the rules," and slips inside the house. He ignores the put-upon sigh from Spencer and heads straight into the living room. It’s empty.

"Where's Bogart?" Shane starts unpacking the bag, looking up as Spencer comes up behind the couch.

"Shane-"

He wiggles a carton at Spencer. "Spring rolls and Panang, mmmm."

Spencer shakes his head, but Shane can see the corner of his mouth curl up in amusement as he turns away. Sliding the back door open, Spencer starts to whistle but a second later Bogart's prancing around his feet. He does a couple circles, whining, before running over to greet Shane.

*

They make a dent in the ridiculous amount of food on the coffee table, but Shane notes that Spencer ends up pushing most of his around, not eating much. Afterwards, they play Xbox for a while, but Spencer's movements are sloppy and Shane suggests watching a movie when he sees Spencer’s growing frustration.

There's relief on Spencer's face, panic underlying it. Shane chooses an action movie, one with a lot of explosions and a lot of noise. He plays it louder than necessary, wincing occasionally, but Spencer doesn't seem to mind.

No matter how loud the movie is, Spencer's lack of sleep is obviously catching up with him. He gets up several times, waving off Shane's offer to pause the movie. He comes back with a couple of Red Bulls and ends up downing both of them during the course of the movie. Despite that, Spencer's barely keeping upright by the end of the movie. The end credits are starting to roll when Shane looks over and sees that Spencer has finally succumbed to sleep. He's slumped against the arm of the chair, head tilted at a slightly painful angle.

Shane turns the movie off, moving the channel to some TV shopping network and gets up carefully. Gathering up the trash, he moves around as quietly as possible. When he comes back from the kitchen he finds Bogart with his chin setting on the couch next to Spencer's legs, soft little sighs escaping every so often.

Spencer’s arm twitches. As Shane watches, Spencer’s face twists a little, a discomfiting noise slipping out. Shane frowns as it worsens almost immediately and the look on Spencer's face turns pained. Taking a seat on the arm of the couch, Shane reaches out and places a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. He keeps the touch light just in case, wary of being punched again.

It seems to settle Spencer, but a second later, he shivers violently. A horrible sound falls from Spencer's mouth and Shane tightens his grip without thinking. There’s another full body shake and Shane watches as Spencer turns his face, trying to bury it into the back couch cushion. It’s like he's trying not to look at whatever is in front of him inside his dream. His hair falls into his face and without thinking, Shane reaches up to push it behind his ear. Spencer turns into it, his cheek sliding into the curve of Shane's hand.

It's an intimate gesture and even being alone, the only one awake, it still makes him blush a little. Something twists in his stomach and he's about to move his hand when Spencer breathes a little sigh, his body relaxing. Shane smoothes his thumb over the curve of Spencer's cheek. The skin under Spencer's eyes is thin; the veins so close to the surface. His eyelashes flutter then still, creating shadows against shadowed skin. Shane thinks about how soft they look and then stands abruptly.

His arm's tired anyway.

Stretching, he moves away from the couch and heads down the hallway to the bathroom.

There’s a bottle in the bathroom trashcan. Shane finishes washing his hands and reaches down to pick it up. It's a generic over-the-counter sleep aid and the bottle's almost completely full. Tossing them back into the trash, Shane wanders further down the hall.

Spencer's bed is made, neat except for a few rumples in the bedspread, like maybe he'd tried to lay down but it hadn't lasted long enough to move around.

He moves back into the kitchen, dropping a glance over at the couch; Spencer hasn't really moved. There's a six-pack of large Red Bulls in the refrigerator and a brand-new canister of coffee on the counter.

A noise from the living room interrupts his search and he heads back toward the other room. Spencer's restless again, hands clenching into the material of the couch. He frowns in his sleep, his forehead wrinkling. When he flinches, throwing an arm out like he's trying to push something away, Shane decides that is enough. He sits down on the other side and as gently as he can, pulls Spencer back against his chest. It's going to be a long night and he'd like to be as comfortable as possible. At first, Spencer struggles against Shane.

"Hey, Spence–Hey, it's okay."

He tries to make his voice as soothing as possible, like when Dylan has something in her paw and is reluctant to let him get it out. Spencer reacts in a similar fashion, tensing up to move again but relaxing into Shane's grip a moment later.

It's not the most comfortable position, Spencer is not exactly a lightweight, but a wiggle there and pulling his arm out from between him and the couch and curling it over Spencer's chest makes it a little easier to settle in. He doesn't expect to fall asleep, but Spencer's a warm weight against his chest and it's nearly 3 am.

He doesn't dream and apparently neither does Spencer.

*

Shane jerks awake and immediately groans as his back protests loudly. A pain shoots up his neck when he raises it. He's mostly lying all the way down on the couch, so they must have shifted sometime during the night. However, there's no sign of Spencer as he looks around. A second later, there’s a noise from the kitchen. He gets up, wincing as things twinge that shouldn't. "I'm getting old, shit," he mutters as his back snaps and crackles like he's 80 instead of 27.

When he enters the kitchen, Spencer gives him a glance then quickly turns his attention back to the mushrooms on the cutting board. A little thrill of amused glee shoots through Shane when he notes that the tips of Spencer's ears are red.

"How's my widdle cuddle bear this–" He looks at his watch. 1:14. Shit. "This afternoon?"

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Shut it, ass-face." He points his knife at Shane and adds, "Also, never a good idea to taunt the guy with the knife."

Laughing, Shane leans up against the other side of the island. In a quieter voice, he asks, "Sleep okay?"

"Oh. Yeah, good." Spencer's chin stays tucked in closer to his chest, but he does glance up when he mumbles, "Thanks." He doesn't really give Shane any time to respond, adding, "Hungry?"

Shane's stomach chooses that moment to announce very loudly that yes, he is indeed hungry. "I’ve got a meeting at three, so I need to get my ass home and cleaned up."

Spencer follows him down the hallway, standing in the doorway as Shane heads down the front steps. At the bottom, Shane turns. "So," he catches Spencer's gaze. "I'll come by a little earlier tonight, yeah?"

There’s a protest on Spencer’s tongue, but he bites his lip instead and looks away, an obvious argument going on inside his head. Shane watches, sees it when Spencer comes to a decision. He won't admit the flutter of relief in his stomach when Spencer looks back at him and with a small, self-conscious smile, answers, "That'd be good, yeah."

Shane tosses over his shoulder, "And you're getting dinner tonight, Smith! My wallet's getting thin supporting your ass."

As he slides into the car, Spencer hollers, "You turned it down once, Valdes. No guarantees."

Slamming the door, he leans over to wave like an idiot and Spencer rolls his eyes and heads back into the house. Shane grins to himself as he drives off.

Regan gives him a look as he rushes through the apartment, shedding clothes and headed for the shower, but doesn't say anything. Shane's kind of grateful; he’s not sure how he’d respond.

*

After a few days the circles under Spencer's eyes are gone and he refuses to let Shane stay over again. Shane protests, but Spencer is adamant.

Shane's phone rings at 10:47 pm. two days later, right as he's about to sit down and edit some footage that’s been on his to-do list for a month.

"So, hey." Spencer sounds tired. Shane's not surprised but something jumps in his stomach when Spencer continues. "I've got sushi from that place on McKinnon." Shane loves that place. "Wanna share?"

He leaves a note for Regan.

When he wakes the next morning with Spencer twisted like a pretzel around him, he mutters, "This is bullshit, we're using the bed next time, dammit."

Spencer snorts from where his face is tucked into Shane's armpit. "Deal."

*

It takes less than a week to settle into a routine. During the day, both of them go about their regular routine: Spencer does whatever the hell he normally does when they're off tour (mostly spending a lot of time with Pete, Ashlee, and most importantly, Bronx). Shane makes phone calls, edits video, and plots his next project and how to get other people to pay for it. He also buys two pretty sweet monitors that are taking _way_ too long to get to him.

He tries to spend as much time with Regan as he can get, in the early evenings when she gets off work, on the weekends when he's not shooting. He tries to explain, but it sounds ridiculous even to his own ears. There's a new level of impatience growing as the days pass and he's coming home as she's heading out. He feels bad, but Spencer looks better than he has since Brendon left. Shane’s hoping that once Brendon gets home, they’ll be able to sort everything out and all the tension will be a thing of the past.

*

They're at the kitchen table for once, digging into some leftovers and laughing when Spencer's eyes widen. "Holy shit! Brendon." He's half out of his chair even as Shane twists around to see. "Did I forget that I was supposed to pick you up? Fuck."

Brendon looks a little startled to see Shane. It's after midnight, so Shane can understand. Before Brendon can say anything, Spencer's wrapping him up in a bear hug. A wide, happy smile spreads over Brendon’s face as he hugs back.

"No, we took an earlier flight." He pulls back a little, but keeps Spencer's arm around his shoulders. "We both wanted to get home, you know?"

He glances at Spencer. "I figured you'd be in bed though and I could surprise the shit out of you in the morning." Nodding toward Shane, he continues. "But I guess that's not gonna happen."

Spencer drags him over to the table, demanding details about their trip. It’s ridiculously late when Brendon cracks a yawn so big, it looks painful. They decide to call it a night.

There's an awkward moment when they get up and Shane says, "Well, we'll see you tomorrow then."

Brendon gives him a funny look. "We?"

Spencer jumps in. "We were, uh, supposed to go surfing in the morning." He looks over at Shane. "Right?"

"Yeah." He nods his head, playing along. That funny feeling is back in his stomach. "Yeah, we were, but I don't think that's gonna happen." When he looks down at his watch it reads _4:09_. "I'm not getting up before noon, dudes."

Brendon laughs and Spencer sends Shane a thankful look. Shane gives him a small smile before turning back to Brendon. "Good to have you back, bro."

There’s another hug from Brendon, his nose tucked just under the hollow of Shane’s ear. His hugs are a familiar thing and Shane relaxes into it, wrapping his own arms tightly around Brendon. There’s a whispered _thank you_ against his neck and a second later, Brendon's bouncing backwards. Another yawn escapes and Shane laughs.

"All right, all right, I get the message."

When he slides into bed–the sheets aren't as soft or as cool–Regan rolls toward him, humming a questioning sound. Shane replies in a soft voice, "Brendon's home." There's a moment of silence and Shane thinks she mumbles a _that's good then_ before she drifts back to sleep.

Shane nods his head in the dark, he supposes that's true.

>><<

Spencer’s appetite is normal again, no shakes from the amounts of caffeine he'd ingested to stay awake or the nausea that had been a constant friend during exhaustion. He's digging into his burger when Brendon drops a bomb on him.

"I think I'm going to move in with Sarah."

It takes a second for Spencer to chew and swallow. Something like panic dances at the back of his mind. "What?"

"We talked about it. On vacation," he clarifies. Brendon shrugs, pushing the fries around on his plate. "I think–" He finally looks up at Spencer. "I think I'm ready, you know?"

No, Spencer doesn't know. He and Haley had called it quits before they'd gotten to that stage. Also, he didn't need Haley to sleep through the night without being chased by all the demons of hell. That little panic is now tap-dancing on his shoulders.

"Spence?"

He snaps his gaze up to Brendon's face. Trepidation at Spencer’s response is there, along with a little confusion, and Spencer feels like an ass. With a wide grin, he grabs a napkin and dabs it under each eye, faking some sniffles. "Aw, my baby's all grown up." There’s a flutter of eyelashes for effect.

Brendon throws a roll at him, concern wiped away by a wide smile. Spencer catches it and rips it in half. "Speaking of babies–"

He offers one half, pausing as something shifts on Brendon's face. It's a little sad, tinged with something else Spencer can't quite decipher. He shrugs it off, launching into the million and one things that Bronx did that Brendon missed.

  
In the ensuing madness of getting Brendon's shit ready to move, Spencer forgets to ask about it.

*

Spencer feels a little restless and it's not until Brendon looks up, surrounded by four boxes, a stack of newspapers and a few scattered Red Bull cans, and says, "Where the fuck is Shane? He should be helping," that he realizes why. It's a little unsettling to say the least, and he watches as Brendon digs his phone out.

"Yo, Valdes," Brendon says into the phone, waggling his eyebrows at Spencer.

Spencer rolls his eyes in response, turning away and packing more books into a box. He half-listens to the conversation, thoughts tumbling around in his head. He's slept okay the last few days. A little restless, yeah, but no sign of nightmares. Nothing like before, but something still feels a little off. He tunes back in time to hear Brendon demand, "And we wouldn't be adverse to some grub–What?" He snorts at whatever retort Shane gives him. "Yeah, yeah. See you in a few."

"More free labor," Brendon tells him, tucking the phone back in his pocket. "And it should come with food."

Spencer nods. For some stupid reason, he feels a little apprehensive at seeing Shane. It's stupid, really. He notices Brendon shoving a photograph haphazardly into one his boxes. "What are you doing? I gave you the newspaper for a reason, Urie."

They spend the next half hour arguing about proper packing techniques and Spencer's startled by the door bell. When he opens the door, he can't help but laugh as Shane stands there, two bags of food raised up and says, "I'm having a distinct feeling of deja vu."

Brendon must have finally untangled himself from the mess in the living room because he makes Spencer jump when his chin suddenly rests on Spencer's shoulder. He asks, "Deja vu?"

Even behind the sunglasses, he can see Shane look at him. Shrugging, he twists around, pushing Brendon back down the hallway. "Food time, come on."

Brendon squints at him, not deterred at all. He's about to say something when Spencer smirks. "Shane can decide who's right on the correct way to pack things for moving."

Scoffing, Brendon finally spins around, detangling himself from Spencer's grip. "Shane knows nothing about packing. He's always got a 'job' when he needs shit moved, and everyone else ends up doing it for him."

"Hey!"

Spencer looks over his shoulder at the exclamation. Shane shuts the door with his foot, looking up in time to catch Spencer's gaze. There's a rueful look on his face and he shrugs. "I, um, can't really negate that statement."

Shaking his head as they move into the kitchen, Spencer says sadly, "You are no good to me at all, sheesh."

The bags of food land on the table. "Now _that_ is not true at all."

Brendon hums in agreement and starts digging around one of the bags. Throwing his hands up, Spencer grumbles, "Fine, fine, but don't come crying to me when all your shit's broken."

"Okay." Brendon takes a huge bite out of the burrito in his hand, completely unconcerned.

Spencer looks over to Shane for solidarity and finds him watching Spencer. It's a little unsettling, twisting something around in his stomach. He can feel his ears heating up, too. Grabbing a burrito, he takes a page from Brendon and digs into his food.

If his mouth is full, maybe he won't stick his foot in it.

*

It’s not the last time he catches Shane watching him. Several times over the course of the afternoon, Spencer looks up to find Shane studying him. It's not only that; Spencer keeps leaning into Shane when he's close by, a total disregard of space made comfortable by the last few weeks. It's only when he sees Brendon looking at them funny that Spencer makes a conscious effort to keep himself in check.

They're closing up a box, Shane holding the flaps together as Spencer tapes it shut, when he asks quietly, "How are you doing?"

"Fine." Checking over his shoulder, Brendon's still in his room. "I. I'm good."

"You've been sleeping okay, then. No nightmares?"

Spencer shakes his head. "Nope." It's the truth. He may not be sleeping great–it’s always a bit restless and he’s pretty sure it’s because he got used to having someone there asleep with him–but there hasn't been a single nightmare in the last week. He twists his wrist, tearing the tape and smoothing it down the side of the box. "Not a one."

"Oh." Shane straightens up. "That's. That's good."

It's kind of ridiculous, Spencer thinks. They slept together for the last two weeks and all of a sudden when they're not, it's as if conversation is the most awkward thing ever. It still doesn't mean that he wouldn’t like to curl up with Shane and take a nap right now.

Oh.

That sudden realization is definitely not helping any of the anxiety-inducing thoughts rolling around in his head right now. The panic in Spencer’s head doesn’t seem to show on his face because Shane keeps going.

"What about, um, when Brendon's out of the house? You know what you're going to do then?"

Spencer doesn't know how to answer that. Admitting out loud that Brendon is actually part of the problem is something that Spencer’s not comfortable with doing yet. Not on top of the fact that he apparently didn't just miss sleeping with someone, he missed sleeping with _Shane_.

"Spencer?"

Shane's obviously expecting an answer, but Spencer can only shake his head. With a frustrated sigh, Shane leans in. "Spence, come on. You know what's going to happen–"

"No, I don't. We can't say that for sure." He turns, blindly reaching into a nearby box. He really, really doesn't want to have this conversation right now.

"What the hell?" Shane moves around the box at their feet until his shoulder brushes Spencer's. "You're not one to usually ignore the obvious, man. And I'm pretty sure you've figured out that it's got something to do with–"

Spencer cuts him off as Shane's voice starts to rise. "Dammit, Shane. Don't–"

"Have you talked to him about it?"

Spencer looks at him like he's crazy. "God, _no_."

"Why not? He should know."

"What? That I can't sleep without him here? That if he goes off and lives _with his girlfriend_ that I'll be haunted, tormented by horrible nightmares. I can't do that."

Throwing his hands up, Shane says, "I don't know, maybe he can sleep over here once or twice a week?"

"Then what? You'll take the other days? I'm pretty sure Regan's already got something to say about that." A look passes over Shane’s face, but he steps in closer and Spencer's breath catches in his throat. He can feel the line of warmth along his side and Jesus, this is _ridiculous_. Shane opens his mouth to say something.

"Guys?"

They both jump back from each other, startled. Brendon's staring at the two of them, a frown on his face. "Everything okay in here?"

It's almost like a comedy, Spencer notes, the way he and Shane turn away at the same time and start messing with the shit in separate boxes. He can feel Brendon's stinkeye as he passes by them and into the kitchen. He's completely unsurprised when Brendon calls out a few minutes later, "Shane? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Shane glances over at Spencer, a wary look on his face, before he heads into the kitchen. There's a murmur of voices, quiet enough that Spencer can't really make out any of the conversation.

It's no big deal, Spencer thinks, it's only sleeping. Despite whatever his brain is trying to make up. Still, Spencer waits barely two minutes before he shuffles over so he can hear more clearly.

"–girlfriend, Bren. Come on."

Man, Spencer knew it was going to be something like that, but he can feel his face heating up. Taking a chance, he glances around the door frame. The two of them are mostly turned away and Brendon's doing that shoulder thing, one hand tucked into his jeans. "Right, right, I know. It's just, um, you guys seem–"

Shane sighs. "We spent a lot of time together while you were gone, yeah. He just–" Shane stops, chin down and Spencer stares at his profile. He knows he's trying to explain without really telling Brendon any real details.

"Just what? What was going on anyway?" Brendon's voice is a little impatient now and Shane shrugs this time, lifting his head to look directly at Brendon.

"I think Spencer should be the one to tell you."

There's confusion in Brendon's voice, definitely frustration, as he huffs out, "What, why?" It's not hard to imagine the look on his face.

"I just–Ask him about it, okay?" Shane puts an arm around Brendon's shoulder, pulling him into his side. "I don't think it's my place. That's all."

"Fine, geez." Brendon's shoulders slump. "I just wanted to, you know, see what was going on between you two."

"Nothing, B, just trying to be a good friend."

"That you are, dude. That you are." The smile is evident in Brendon's voice and Spencer can't help the tilt at the corner of his mouth.

Shane grins. "But you know, Spencer _does_ have those hips–"

"Freak." Brendon hip-checks him and Shane stumbles away, laughing.

"Just sayin'."

Before Brendon can retort his phone rings. Even from the back, Spencer can see Brendon brighten. It's Sarah's ringtone. Shane rolls his eyes as Brendon shoos him away. Brendon moves out on to the deck and Shane glances over to where Spencer’s standing in the doorway, his smile fading. As he passes by Spencer, he mutters, "You _need_ to tell him."

Spencer sighs heavily, leaning back against the wall. Shane goes back to packing and Spencer watches and wonders what the hell is going on with his life.

*

The first night is good.

The second is a little rougher. He wakes up three times, heart pounding. The first two times he reaches for Bogart before he realizes that the dog's not there. Around 5:30 am, he gets up and makes a pot of coffee. He drinks it at the kitchen table, watching a sunbeam travel along the tile in the kitchen. He contemplates calling Shane for all of three seconds and then pushes the thought out of his head.

Later that afternoon, he kidnaps Brendon's dog, declaring visitation rights. Brendon starts to protest, but Sarah's dragging him out the door and Spencer is triumphant. "Besides," he shouts after Brendon, waving the dog's paw goodbye. "Your dog likes me better anyway!"

Brendon flips him off as they drive away.

Looking down at the dog in his arms, he tells him, "Just you and me, huh?" Bogie licks his chin.

Spencer will take that as a yes.

*

It's like nothing changed, Bogart follows him everywhere. He settles on Spencer's lap when Spencer lets him. When he doesn't, the dog sits as close as possible. It should be annoying, but Spencer finds it comforting.

A little after midnight, Spencer can barely keep his eyes open. After the third time he jerks awake, Bogart jumping out of the way just in time to avoid being squished, he decides he might as well be comfortable and heads to bed.

He's out almost instantly, the last thing he recalls is the warm line of Bogart against his hip.

>><<

The sound of the phone is startling in the quiet dark of the bedroom. Despite the fact that Shane wakes almost at once, he fumbles the cell and it lands on the floor. He leans over the side of the bed, hand scrambling after it. Regan noises a question, and Shane can feel her turn over towards him. He finally finds the phone.

"'lo?" He clears his throat. "Hello?"

There's a labored pull of air on the other end, then a dog bark in the background. "Spencer?"

There’s a murmur of consent.

"Spence, are you ok–" A retching sound interrupts his question and a second later Shane jerks the phone away from his ear when it clatters loudly to the floor on the other end. Bogart starts whining, accented by little yip-yowls. Shane tosses the covers off and gets up. "Shit."

"What is it?" Regan's voice is still sleep-slurred as Shane stumbles out of bed, searching for his pants. The room is dark and he trips over the shoes he'd toed off earlier. The phone is pressed tightly against his ear. He can hear Spencer breathing at least, although Bogart's still whining.

"Shane?"

He turns in the dark, jeans gripped triumphantly in his hand. There's enough moonlight filtering in through the closed blinds that he can see she's sitting up, waiting.

"What?" he says, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he tries to slide into his jeans.

"What's going on?" There's a note of rising panic in her voice. Distracted, Shane finally manages not to fall over and buttons his jeans. He chases down the shoe he'd tripped over and it's only when Regan says sharply, "Shane!" that his attention shifts. Shane flinches as Bogart reacts to her voice, barking sharply.

Sitting on the bed, he slips his shoes on, not bothering with socks. "It's Spencer, he's sick."

"Again?" A note of disbelief this time. Shane spent the better part of the last two weeks with Spencer; he can understand that Regan would be a little miffed. Still.

"I told you, Regs, Spencer's been sick, not sleeping well." He finishes putting his shoes on, standing again. "It's probably a relapse, okay? I'm just going to-"

"Brendon's home now, why can't you let him handle it?"

He answers, distracted by the search for his wallet. "Dammit, where's–Brendon doesn’t know how to help."

He finds it in the cushion of the chair where he'd thrown his pants earlier just as Regan retorts, "Oh? So you're the only one who knows how to cure him? That sounds kind of ridiculous-"

In his ear there's the sound of retching again. "Seriously, Regan, I don't have time to argue about this right now. I need to go-"

"Help Spencer, I get it."

He's sliding on his hoodie, switching the phone from one ear to the other when Regan asks, voice soft, "Is there something going on between the two of you?" The question startles him so much that he nearly drops the phone. What the hell? Heat flares up on his face and he's suddenly glad he never turned a light on.

" _What_!?"

"You just." He can hear her shrug in the dark. "You're over there all the time now..."

"I told you. Spencer's been sick-"

"Then get him some fucking medicine, Shane! Let the doctors take care of it!"

He hates how hurt she sounds and he moves back toward the bed, only something’s happening on the other end of the line. He needs to go. "Look, I can't–Let me take care of this and when I get back we'll talk, I promise. Okay?"

Kneeling on the bed, he bends down to kiss her. She turns a little and it brushes at the corner of her mouth. He can feel how tight her jaw is and drops another one on her cheek. After a moment he moves, heading toward the door.

"I gotta go. Spencer–" He trails off and Regan sighs.

"Spencer, right."

He looks over his shoulder, knows she's watching him in the dark. He opens his mouth, to say what, he doesn't know, but she waves him away. "I'll be here when you get back."

There's something in her voice that makes Shane's chest ache a little, but he's distracted by Bogart barking and turns to go.

*

Shane breaks a few laws getting over to Spencer's house. The good thing is that it's late enough that there's hardly any traffic. The phone is on the seat next to him on speakerphone, and he tries to keep up a running stream nonsense, mostly for his own state of mind. In his head though, is this whirlwind of thought–Brendon's voice, Regan's, asking nearly the same question–all of it overlaid with the sound of dry heaves and those little sounds of terror that Spencer makes in his sleep sometimes, before things settled down.

The more he thinks about it, his hands tightening on the steering wheel, the more confused he gets. It's not like Spencer is a bad-looking dude, but Shane's never really been interested in guys. Not really, not since–

He shakes his head, trying to focus on the road ahead of him. It'd be stupid to get in an accident because he was too busy wondering why his girlfriend and his best friend thought he was cheating. Besides, Shane thinks as he finally pulls into Spencer's driveway and shuts off the car, Spencer's always been Brendon's.

That thought nearly makes him trip and he stops abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. Brendon loves Sarah, that's obvious, but the more he thinks about, Shane knows he's right. The sound of Bogart scratching on the other side of the door has him fumbling for the keys, still trying to wrap his mind around that epiphany.

When he finally gets the door open, the dog runs around his feet a couple of times and then settles, nose down between his paws, whining. The house is dark.

"Spencer?"

There's no answer from the interior.

Scooping the dog up into his arms, he moves inside. He heads toward Spencer's bedroom. The light's on in the bathroom and it illuminates the room. The sight of the empty bed, with its blankets tossed about makes him frown. Spencer's not a restless sleeper, not really, when he finally gets down without the dreams so that means he's definitely having the nightmares again.

There's a sound from the bathroom and Bogart starts wiggling, wanting down. He takes off like a shot toward the bathroom and Shane follows him. He's kind of afraid of what he's going to find.

  
Spencer is splayed on the tile floor, back against the glass of the shower. He's so pale Shane's breath catches in fear. A second later though, Spencer shivers violently. His eyes snap open and Shane barely has time to note the glassy, blank look in them before Spencer's leans forward to dry-heave into the toilet.

"Fuck." Shane moves further into the bathroom, kneeling down. He brushes Spencer's hair back, pushing it behind his ear. The skin under his fingertips is clammy. "Spencer?"

The line of tension in Spencer's back relaxes and he leans into Shane, sighing. One arm is curved around the toilet seat and Spencer's cheek rests along it. He must have closed his eyes because it's a bit startling when he opens them, looking at Shane. The haze in them dissipates as Shane watches Spencer focus on him.

With Herculean effort, Spencer moves back away from the toilet. He doesn't seem to have enough energy to do anything other than lean back against the shower again. Shane's hand falls away. They sit there in silence; Shane doesn't have a clue what to say other than 'I told you so'. Which he had, yeah, but nothing like this ever happened in the last few weeks. He’s not quite sure how to deal with this.

Finally, he gets up. Spencer makes a frantic little noise in his throat at the movement and Shane reassures him, saying quickly, "I'm not leaving, just. It's okay." Grabbing a washcloth from under the sink, he stands there impatiently waiting for the water to heat up. Once it has, he soaks the washcloth and kneels back down.

Spencer flinches a little when the wet cloth hits his skin, but settles almost immediately. When Shane's done, he tosses the rag up into the sink and slides down to sit next to Spencer. He pulls Spencer closer, an arm around his shoulder. Spencer curls into his side, head dropping down to Shane's shoulder. Shane concentrates on the way Spencer's breath blows against his neck, hitching every so often as his body jerks. With a start, Shane realizes that Spencer's trying to stay awake.

"Hey," he says softly, tightening his hand where it's curved around Spencer's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay, Spence. I'm here, you can sleep."

At his words, the last bit of resistance falls away and within minutes, Shane feels Spencer slip into sleep, body lax against his side. It's not the most comfortable position, but it doesn't really matter.

It takes a very long time for Shane to fall asleep.

>><<

"You're being fucking stupid."

Spencer glares over his shoulder, shoving the toaster handle harder than necessary. "Fuck you, I don't-"

"You _do_ need to see a doctor, Spence. This isn't normal!" Shane's all up in his space suddenly, insistent, and Spencer can't help but think about this morning, waking up practically wrapped around Shane on the floor of the bathroom. His face heats up and he snaps, "What am I supposed to tell them then?"

"I don't know-" Dryness laces Shane's words. "Maybe tell them the truth? That you can't sleep?"

Spencer breathes a little easier when Shane turns away, flinging himself down into one of the chairs at the table.

"I really don't care, Spence, but you need to go. Talk to someone who might have a clue as to what's happening to you."

"I really don't think-"

"I'll tell Brendon."

That stops Spencer cold. He fumbles the toast and it drops on the counter. A frantic grab stops it from going off the edge and keeps him from having to respond immediately.

He doesn't know why he doesn't want to tell Brendon. Well, part of it is that he's never seen Brendon this happy, not in the entire time he's known him. Not even when they got signed–when Brendon could leave that shitty one bedroom apartment behind and get out of Vegas–did he seem as happy as he is now. And it sure as hell the happiest Spencer's seen him since the band split. He's reluctant to do anything to break that peace.

 _Liar_ , whispers through his head. _You just don't want to admit that it has anything to do with Brendon._

Fuck.

"Fine." Shaking his head, he looks over at Shane. A memory of a line of warmth along his side floats through his head and he turns his attention back to the toast. "Fine," he repeats, rubbing a hand over his face. Who knows, maybe they'll actually be able to do something. Shane can't sleep over forever, no matter how much–

Spencer shakes that thought away before it can complete itself, taking a huge bite out of a buttered slice.

 _Fuck._

*

Shane's in the hallway, pacing back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. Even from inside the waiting room, Spencer can see the tension in Shane's back. He grabs a magazine and doesn't look up until Shane flings himself into the chair next to him.

Keeping his gaze down on the magazine in his hands, he tells Shane, "You don't have to stay. I'm a big boy, you know."

"You're kidding, right?" Spencer can feel the incredulous look directed his way. "Regs will–She's worried about you too, you're her friend. She's just–" There's a shrug from the corner of his eye, but Shane doesn't finish his statement.

"I'm just sayin', you don't have to–"

"Mr. Smith?"

Spencer gets up and moves over towards the nurse. It takes him a second to realize he's by himself. Looking back over his shoulder, he sees Shane still seated. "You coming?"

Shane kind of startles, but grins and stands up. "Aw, Spence. You need someone to hold your hand when they bring out the big needle?"

Rolling his eyes, Spencer refuses to answer and just follows after the nurse. No need to tell Shane that he doesn't care for needles much.

*

Shane closes the door behind him, adjusting the strap of his bag and says, "You should go take a nap."

"What?"

"You look dead on your feet, Spence." Shane shrugs. "I'm here, so you should rest while you can."

"It's the middle of the afternoon."

Tilting his head to the side, Shane gives him a look. "And how much sleep have you had since Brendon left?"

"Fuck you, you aren't my mom, Shane. You don't need to stay." Spencer scowls down at his hands. "And I'm pretty sure Regan isn't happy that you're over here all the time anyway."

"I told you, let me worry about her, okay?" Spencer tries to decipher the look on Shane's face. "She's at work anyway, so it doesn't matter right now. Quit being a dick and go lay down."

"Can I take a piss first? Geez." The words are grumpy, but Spencer doesn't really fight it when Shane pushes him down the hallway.

He fumbles around in the bedroom, changing into some sleep pants and a soft, worn out t-shirt. The sound of Shane messing around echoes down the hallway. The glass door opens and closes, Bogart’s nails clicking on the floor as he runs into the house. He meets Spencer at the bathroom, and Spencer bends down to scratch behind the dog's ears before closing the door. When he comes out, wiping the vestiges of water on his pants, Bogart's patiently waiting. His tail thumps against the wood floor and Spencer can't help grinning. Brendon really did pick a winner with this one.

The scrape of a chair across the tile in the kitchen makes him look up, and a second later, Shane appears at the end of the hallway. They stare at each other for a minute, until Shane's shoulders drop and he sighs.

"You know I'm just looking out for you, right?"

The sincerity on Shane's face makes Spencer feel like an ass. He knows he's been acting like one, but the whole thing makes him feel guilty, too. The truth is he's grateful for Shane, maybe a little too grateful, if the way his stomach keeps twisting lately is any indication. But he hates the nightmares and after last night's episode, he's just about willing to do anything to make this shit stop.

Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he leans against the wall. "Of course I know that. I haven't even really thanked you either, but it's–Just. It's kind of embarrassing, really."

The tips of his ears are getting hot. Great.

"Embarrassing?" Shane frowns at him, confused. "Why?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm a grown man and it's like, I don't know, the equivalent of needing a night light?" His ears are definitely burning now, which means his cheeks are probably red, too. "Or those links that Brendon used to send Ryan. Shit."

Ryan would probably laugh his ass off to know that Spencer's life is bad pornfiction. Without the porn. Spencer's face feels really hot now and cripes, it’s like he’s 17 again.

"Oh man." Shane grins. "I'd totally forgotten about that."

He gives Spencer a look, smile dimming. "You talk to Ryan lately?"

"No," Spencer answers shortly. Shane's eyebrow goes up. He doesn't really want to talk about Ryan right now, maybe not ever, with what's currently going on. "No, I haven't."

Avoiding further questions, Spencer pushes off the wall. "I think I'm going to go–" He waves a hand toward his bedroom. "Nap." God, he feels like a 5-year old. He rolls his eyes as Shane's grin widens again, and moves into his bedroom.

"Leave your door open!" Shane hollers.

Spencer shouts back, "Fine, _Mom_ ," his voice full of sarcasm. It's ridiculous, but he doesn't shut the door.

*

Bogart jumps off the bed at one point and Spencer's eyelids flutter, but they're too heavy and he slips back into sleep a second later.

*

There's terror at the edges of his vision and his heart pounds so hard, he's afraid it will burst from his chest. A hand smoothes over his forehead, a quiet voice comforting in the haze of his dream, and the black bleeds away from the corner of his eyes as he settles.

*

Eyes snapping open, he heaves in a huge gasp of air. Spencer keeps still, trying to calm his heart down. The sun is setting and his room is cloaked in a golden wash of light. The house is quiet.

Stumbling out of bed and down the hallway, Spencer finds Shane passed out on the couch. It takes a moment for Spencer to figure out that Shane's clutching his cell phone in one hand and what is probably a script of some sort in the other. There's a little war going on in Spencer's sleep-drugged brain, whether to head back into the bedroom or just give in and lay down on the couch.

Shane shifts and Spencer thinks _fuck it_ , pulling the phone and paper out of loose fingers and pushing until Shane makes a little protesting noise but moves further into the couch. As Spencer fits himself into the space left, Shane snuffles a, "Hungry?", eyes fluttering open.

"No," Spencer mumbles, "g’back to sleep."

Shane's warm and comfortable, putting his arm over Spencer, and it's barely a few minutes until they're both fast asleep again.

*

The ringing of the phone startles Spencer awake. He flails, the only thing saving him from falling ass-end off the couch is Shane's hand grabbing his shirt. Once he's upright, the stiffness in his neck makes him groan. Shane echoes the sentiment two seconds later. Spencer hears him muttering something about 'never again' but he ignores him for making a mad dash to the phone.

The answering machine is half a second away from clicking on when Spencer finally grabs the phone. "This is Spencer."

 _Mr. Smith?_ the voice on the other end questions.

"Yes, this is Spencer Smith."

Shane gives him a look as he passes by. Spencer watches him start making coffee, throwing him a thankful smile.

 _We've received the results from your blood work-_ Frowning, he looks at the clock. It's a quarter to nine and Spencer figures there's a damn good reason they both feel crappy for sleeping on the couch; they'd been out for over twelve hours. He cracks his neck, tuning back in, _-increased levels of serotonin in your system, but other than that, nothing stands out._

"Serotonin?" He glances over at Shane, who just shrugs. "What would that do?"

 _Well, high levels of serotonin has been known to affect sleep cycles and patterns, so it's entirely possible that's what we're looking at._ Spencer makes a mental note to Google it later. _Now, you stated yesterday that you weren't on any medications, correct?_

He hums agreement.

 _No antidepressants then? Using more than the prescribed amount may–_

"No, nothing like that," he interrupts. Spencer frowns, brain working ahead. It's no surprise then when the doctor continues. _There are certain...recreational drugs, ecstasy, for example, that can tend to keep high levels of serotonin in the system._

The question is there, but the doctor is obviously reluctant to accuse Spencer of lying. Jesus, it's been a year since he's smoked up, and he's never felt curious enough to try anything else.

His voice is a little cold when he responds. "I haven't overdosed on meds and I'm not partaking in illegal drugs, sir. Is there anything else?" Anything helpful, he wants to add.

The doctor clears his throat. _I'm extremely reluctant to do so, but I could prescribe a sleep aid. However–_

Over the counter sleeping pills had made everything twice as bad. Spencer's not interested in knowing what a clinical dose might do.

"No, thank you," he interrupts again. His mother would probably smack him for being so rude. There's a sigh on the other side of the line.

 _Mr. Smith, it's extremely important that usage of recreational drugs be-_

Spencer breaks in, voice cold. "That's okay, doctor. I appreciate your help." The phone gets hung up a little harder than it should, and Spencer slumps back against the counter, shoulders dropping.

"So." He looks up at the sound of Shane's voice. Leaning against the opposite counter, Shane's eyes are curious and sympathetic. "So I guess we should figure out a schedule then, huh?"

  
Spencer looks away and doesn't answer.

  
[Part Two](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14544.html)


	3. a thin line between - part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spencer's just woken up voice is kind of hot. This may cause some problems from now on seeing as how Shane wakes up next to Spencer a good portion of the week.

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic band: p!atd](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20band%3A%20p%21atd), [fic challenge: werewolfbigbang](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20challenge%3A%20werewolfbigbang), [fic pairing: shane/spencer](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20pairing%3A%20shane%2Fspencer), [fic type: bandslash](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20type%3A%20bandslash)  
  
---|---  
  
_**a thin line between - part two**_  
[Master Post](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13906.html) | [Part One](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14092.html) | Part Two | [Part Three](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14674.html) | [Part Four](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14902.html) | [Fanmix](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13603.html)

 _Spencer stays._

When everything falls apart, Spencer stays and Brendon doesn't ever forget that. There'd been no hesitation at all when Brendon had finally gotten his nerve up enough to tell Spencer he didn't think he could do it; he couldn't make another Pretty. Odd. When they are working, it's like he and Ryan are a raging fire, always at each other's throats, words vicious and cutting; outside of that, it's the opposite, an ice-cold war of silence. Brendon knows he'll shatter if he has to go through it again. Shatter into a million Ryan Ross-edged pieces, never to find himself whole again.

So Spencer stays and Brendon would have loved him for that alone, except Spencer actually wants to be in the band with Brendon. He wants to make the kind of music that Brendon wants to make–fun and fast, Old School Blue Eyes with jumped-up jazz beats, anything and everything–Spencer is totally, wholeheartedly *in* with Brendon.

Spencer hadn't paused when Brendon whispered those fateful words. He'd just tugged Brendon in, tucked him tight under one arm and said, "Okay, let's do this."

~*~

Shane's not really listening, intent on the screen in front of him. This one scene is being a complete bitch; he can't decide which cut he likes better. He presses save and reopens the file. Maybe if the tries holding that last panorama just a few seconds longer—

" _Shane_."

"Yeah, Regs?" He glares at the screen. That doesn't work at all.

There's a rising impatience in her voice when she asks, "What time does your flight leave?"

"Flight?"

"I thought you had that video shoot in New Mexico this weekend?"

"Oh," Shane waves a hand. "I rescheduled that."

"What? Why?"

"I can't leave right now, Regs, not with Spence–"

"Spencer."

"Yes, Spencer. You know he's still sick."

"Take him to the doctor!"

"Regan, what the hell? You _know_ –"

"I _know_ that you spend a hell of a lot of time over there. You haven't slept in our bed for more than three days in the last two weeks."

"I told you that Spencer's sick, that he's not sleeping well."

"So, what? You have to stand over him to make sure he does?"

Shane doesn't really say anything to that.

"What the hell is going on? I'm starting to think that there's something going on between you two!"

He knows that he hesitates to long before finally opening his mouth to tell her she's being ridiculous when she says softly, "Oh my god."

Shane finally looks over. Her eyes are wide, shocked. He doesn't know what to say. He thinks about how he's just as comfortable sleeping in Spencer's bed as he is their own, how they have their own routine in the morning like he and Regan usually do. He thinks about this and knows that she has a point. Still, he's unprepared for what comes out of her mouth next.

"And I thought Brendon was a test–" Wait. What? "But this-"

"Brendon? What–I don't. What's _Brendon_ got to do with any of this?" He’s part of what’s happening with Spencer, Shane suspects, but that’s nothing really to do with Shane. Not that he knows anyway.

Regan just looks at him. The expression on her face makes something drop in his stomach. It just gets worse when she tells him quietly, "I used to watch the two of you together, you know, right after you guys met." With her head down, Shane still sees the way she bites her lip. "I was so scared for a while there. The two of you were just–I don't."

She looks up then, her eyes a little wet. Shane can't breathe.

"You were so good for him." A soft smile. "Something in him just, I don't know, calmed down?"

"Regan–"

"You didn't leave though," she interrupts. "You didn't leave and Brendon met Sarah and I thought that would be it, but this–"

Shane can tell she's trying so hard not to cry, twisting her fingers in the belt loops of her pants. It's a thing she does, he knows it exactly. He tries to say something, but she says softly, "I can't do this, not right now." Shaking her head, she steps back.

It's not until the front door closes that Shane realizes she's gone, that she _left_.

Nearly an hour passes before Shane makes himself get up, moves to find his phone. All his calls go straight to voicemail and he doesn't want to call her friends just yet, not until they can actually talk.

He's got Brendon's number typed in, his hand over the send, thinking maybe Brendon would know what Regan was talking about. It's ridiculous. They're close, yeah, but there are reasons for that. It’s not something that’s ever come between him and Regan.

Except apparently that's not as true as Shane thought.

He backspaces and sends a text to Spencer instead, ignoring the echo of Regan's words.

 _You good for tonight?_

An answer comes back less than two minutes later. _Yeah, B and I are on a roll (ha). Why?_

 _Something came up, wanted to make sure you were covered_

 _I'm golden don't think we're going to be doing much sleeping yet._

Shane drops his head into his hand, phone held loosely in the other. Tilting his head up, he checks the clock. Regan's been gone for four hours.

The phone vibrates in his hand.

 _Everything okay?_

He barks out a laugh. _Yes._ A pause, then he adds: _can't wait to hear what you guys come up with_ , tossing the phone on the coffee table. After a moment, he sighs, slumping back into the couch.  
He'll just wait then, until she comes home.

*

There's a crick in his neck that twinges when he sits up, yawning. Rubbing his eyes, he's reaching for the phone when he sees Regan. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him. There's a sad little smile on her face and Shane's up and moving towards her before he even registers it.

"Regan, I–"

That's when he notices the suitcase under her hand.

"What? What are you doing?"

"I think we should take a break."

" _What?_ I told you, there's nothing going on between me and Spencer!"

"That–Maybe that's true." She ducks her head but Shane sees that she doesn't believe her own words. "But there's _something_ going on with Spencer at least. I don't claim to understand it, but I think that it would be best if I take some time away from all of this." Shane hears the _from you_. "Get myself sorted out."

"Regs, this is stupid. Please." He reaches out for her, but she steps away.

"I'm sorry, Shane." She won't look at him as she moves around him, dragging the suitcase with her. It's the huge one they'd bought for when she'd get to come out on tour with them, for when they'd get to take a vacation overseas. It's half her size, but she doesn't struggle with it at all.

Shane can't believe this is happening.

"Regan, please don't."

Her voice is soft, tear-choked as she repeats, "I'm sorry."

She sets something on the table in the hallway and the door shuts quietly behind her. From where he's standing, Shane can see the gold glint of the apartment key.

He goes to bed and doesn't get up for two days.

*

Something jerks Shane out of sleep. Rolling over, he scrubs a hand over his face. There's pounding on the front door and Shane thinks _maybe she came back_. Stumbling through sleep-haze, he makes his way through the apartment and flings the door open.

"Regan–"

Brendon's hand is poised to knock again, the frown on his face deepening as he looks Shane over. Behind him, Shane sees the way the anger on Spencer's face shifts to concern.

"What the hell, Shane?"

Brendon shoves his way into the apartment. Spencer follows and Shane can't help automatically shifting back a step. He sighs, his eyes shutting briefly before he closes the door and turns around. Brendon's in the middle of the living room, his jaw tight.

"Is there something wrong with your phone? We've been calling forever. And Regan's not answering her phone either."

Shane swallows hard at Regan's name. "Guys–"

"Where _is_ Regan?" Spencer interrupts, his voice quiet after Brendon's insistent questioning. Shane looks up.

There's a look on Spencer's face, like something is dawning on him, and he presses his lips together when Shane doesn't answer right away.

Brendon frowns again, confused. He looks over at Spencer, then back at Shane. "Shane?"

"Uh, yeah," Dropping his gaze, he tucks his hands in his back pockets. "She probably wouldn't be picking up from you. Maybe Sarah though."

He watches as Brendon's shoes appear in his field of vision. A hand lands softly on his shoulder. "Why would she pick up for Sarah and not for me, Shane?"

Spencer sighs loudly. "Because they obviously had a fight, Brendon. Jesus."

Over his shoulder, Brendon snaps, "I _figured_ that, douche. Maybe Shane needed to say it out loud."

"Fuck." Shane can hear Spencer flop on the couch.

Turning his attention back to Shane, Brendon asks, "What'd you guys fight about? I mean, you've argued before, right?"

Shane deliberately doesn't look at the couch. "She's never actually taken her suitcase, B. I'm pretty sure she's serious this time."

"Fuck," Spencer repeats under his breath and this time Shane does look over Brendon's shoulder, watches as Spencer settles back into the couch, a hand running over his face.

Brendon follows his gaze, his frown deepening. He looks back to Shane and Shane panics a little; he doesn't want to talk about it. About what Regan said. He drags up a smile before Brendon can push the issue. It's not a very good one by the look on Brendon's face.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone, and I appreciate you guys coming to check on me, but I think I'd like to be by myself."

Brendon hums at him. "Um, no? You should come stay with me, get out of here."

"That's no good, Brendon," Spencer says from the couch. Brendon twists around to look at him. "Sarah's there; it wouldn't be very fair to her." He doesn't offer his own place, Shane notes, catching Spencer's eye. Spencer looks away first.

"Seriously, guys. Thank you for coming to check on me, but I'm fine. I'm just gonna–I should be here just in case she comes back or calls." Brendon opens his mouth to protest, but Shane adds a quiet, "Please?" and his mouth closes.

Pushing off the couch, Spencer comes up behind Brendon. "You want us to stick around?" he asks. Brendon looks hopeful, but Shane shakes his head, giving them a small smile. "I'll be okay, I promise."

He still looks like he wants to argue, but Spencer puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder. They're standing in the open doorway when Brendon wraps him up in a tight hug, arms tight around Shane's shoulders. His nose settles in the hollow of Shane's neck like it always does, breathing deep. Hugging back, Shane gives him another quiet thanks.

Brendon pulls back, scowling. "Call, doucherocket, if you need anything." He moves out the door, standing at the top of the stairwell and waits.

Spencer pauses as he's leaving, not quite turning to face Shane. He looks up and Shane sees the mix of guilt and sympathy on his face. "Shane–"

Shane cuts him off, voice low. "It's not your fault, okay? Just, it's–It's not. So get whatever you're thinking out of your head right now."

It's obvious Spencer doesn't believe him, but he nods. A hand curves around Shane's shoulder in a sympathetic squeeze and then they're both gone. Shane closes the door, resting his forehead against the smooth laminate.

Fuck covers everything just about perfectly.

Regan doesn't come back except for once, to pick up the rest of her stuff.

*

He's on the tail end of a three day binge of bad whiskey, a shit-ton of beer, and very little sleep when he answers a call from Brendon.

 _Dude, dude. How are you doing?_

Taking in the mess of cans littering his living room, Shane goes with, "As well as can be expected I guess." There's a headache brewing in his temples and his stomach is unsettled. "What's up?"

 _I forgot the A/C guy was coming over tomorrow and I was wondering if you could go over and meet him for us?_

"Why can't you do it? Or Spencer? He's closer." Shane isn't really up for actually being social just yet, especially after yesterday's phone call and another series of pleas and begging.

 _One, I am not currently available seeing as I'm currently in Vegas, and two, asshole, you seriously need to get out of that apartment so I chose you over Spencer. Also he didn't answer his phone earlier._

Shane's about to tell him to call Spencer again when it registers exactly what Brendon said.

"Wait. You're out of town? For how long?"

 _I should be back in a couple days-_

"No," he cuts in impatiently. "How long have you _been_ gone?"

 _Oh, uh, well._ Brendon sounds a little embarrassed. _We actually left the day after, um, you know._

Rolling his eyes, Shane grumbles, "Way to be there for me, Brendon."

 _Hey! I told you-_

That means Spencer's been alone for three days.

"Fuck."

 _What? What's wrong?_

"Nothing," he says quickly. "I'll do it, Jesus. What time?" Listening with half an ear, Shane starts looking for some shoes. By the time he's hung up, his keys are in his hands and he's nearly in the parking lot. In rush hour traffic it takes half an hour to get to Spencer's place.

He pushes on the doorbell and then, impatient, starts pounding on the door. Spencer answers in an old t-shirt that's seen better days and ratty sweatpants. He looks like shit.

"You–" Shane growls, pushing his way into the house, "are a fucking idiot."

Spencer glares after him, shutting the door. The effect is kind of ruined by the thin, darkened skin under his eyes. His voice is tired but biting when he responds, "And you smell like you've been bathing in Jameson's. Can we just go to sleep now?"

That sounds just fine to Shane.

>><<

So Shane comes over, doesn't leave for a month, and Spencer sleeps better than he has in the last few months. Okay, he doesn't always sleep peacefully, but for the most part it's restful. They both ignore the fact that Spencer's worst nights are those when it's been more than a four days since Brendon's been around.

The first week, Shane doesn’t sleep much, wandering the house like a ghost. When he does fall asleep, it’s always on the couch or in Brendon's old room. Finally, after about a week, Spencer stumbles out of his bedroom around three in the morning, shaking, and Shane, slumped on the couch in the dark with the television reflecting a prism of colors over his face, says, "Fuck. This is ridiculous."

He pulls them both back into Spencer's bedroom and they sleep for nearly ten hours.

Shane has a few rough periods, spaces of time where he's working and Spencer will come around the corner to find him staring off, eyes sad and far away, lost in memories. There’s a lot of beer and silence the weekend that Regan comes to get the rest of her stuff. Spencer does the best he can, tries to be a comforting presence. He knows from experience that it's mostly about waiting shit out, letting time make everything less sharp, less painful.

Watching this whole thing go down, though, loads Spencer with guilt. As much as Shane reassures him, he knows that whatever the hell's going on with him is a big, if not all, part of what happened between Shane and Regan. He'd picked up his phone half a dozen times those first few days with Shane in the house, ready to tell Regan that there was nothing going on. There's no reason for her to break Shane's heart. None of the calls were completed, something always holding him back from pushing the green call button.

Spencer comes to terms with the fact that he's a selfish son of a bitch and carries that guilt without word.

*

Brendon doesn't say much about the situation. Spencer watches from the other side of the glass as they have low, earnest conversations in the backyard. Bogie starts spending a lot more time at the house which, while Brendon moans and pouts about how his dog loves Spencer more, he always seem to 'accidentally' forget to take said dog home.

Life goes on.

Spencer and Brendon are in the studio constantly; Shane continues doing his thing. Little by little, his stuff starts to accumulate in the house–another toothbrush in the cup, extra wet towels on the floor of the bathroom–and Spencer finds himself buying those weird flaxseed chips that Shane likes that are totally gross. They both drink ridiculous amounts of milk and the boxes of cereal on the counter go from two to five by the end of the month.

Spencer's got a third bedroom that houses his spare drum kit, along with various other instruments that Brendon keeps around in case an idea strikes. Two weeks in and Shane has the small table that's tucked into the corner of the room covered in two laptops, half a dozen notepads, and four cameras. Spencer's got a mental note to pick up a pair of the noise-canceling headphones that Shane uses. They've got to be amazing since Shane always acts like nothing's going on when he's working and Spencer's practicing.

When he's in town and they're not recording or he's not busy with Sarah, Brendon comes over. They spend most of the time trying to best each other at video games, drinking beer and eating pizza. Spencer likes to watch Shane and Brendon together. Brendon's always had this buzz of energy that surrounds him. It used to drive Ryan crazy in the beginning, he remembers. When they met Shane, something in Brendon settled down and that still happens now.

It's kind of funny, Spencer notes. Brendon's very touchy-feely, something else that nearly drove Ryan nuts at the start. Until he discovered pot and the way everything felt so much _more_ when you were high.

Brendon likes to touch, to hug, to drape himself across your back, anything to be close. But with Shane, he just stands close like just being in the same vicinity as Shane is enough for Brendon. It's kind of weird. Spencer always shakes it off. _Brendon_ is weird; the rules always bend themselves for him.

*

So things settle into a pattern. Spencer is a big fan of patterns. He's also a big fan of ignoring the fact that he really likes Shane sleeping in his bed, and that some of that is not just because he likes sleep.

He's been pretty good at ignoring the weird feelings that keep popping up in his stomach when he can feel Shane's body heat, when Shane forgets that he's not Brendon and runs his hands in a slow, soothing movement over the back of his head when they fall asleep on the couch. But it's really, really nice having Shane nearby so he doesn't do anything when Shane hems and haws about going back to his place. Regan's gotten her stuff and Spencer pretends that he's being a good friend when he says that it will make Shane feel weird to go back to a half-empty apartment, so he should just stay a couple more days.

*

Since he can't see over the two bags of groceries that he's holding, Spencer nearly does a nosedive when he trips over what he's fairly sure are a pair of Shane's tennis shoes.

"Goddammit, Shane, I told you–"

Shane's sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Spencer just sighs and goes to put the groceries up. He has to clear the counter, currently scattered with–Spencer glances over them as he stacks them up–another video treatment.

When he's done, Spencer moves back into the living room. There's a laptop on the coffee table, screensaver on, a new picture rolling over every few seconds. He grins at the stupid ballgame photos, Brendon and Pete being idiots. A shot of Regan comes up and Spencer frowns, looking over at the still figure on the couch.

It's been a little over a month since the break-up; the dark circles are finally gone and Shane looks peaceful in sleep. Spencer sighs and reaches over to kill the screensaver, quietly shutting the laptop after making sure there's nothing important pulled up. Sitting on the coffee table, he looks around. There's another pair of shoes shoved in the space between the bookshelf and the TV stand, a jacket flung over the loveseat, and a slew of games stacked up in front of the gaming consoles.

Spencer sighs. He's about to do something stupid.

*

He doesn't say anything for another week, not until Shane's bitching because the camera he wants is at his apartment. Finally, Spencer just huffs out, "This is ridiculous."

Startled, Shane looks up. "What?"

"You're over here all the time anyway, half your shit is here already. I keep tripping over your damned shoes. Which, by the way, if you move in, we are going to have a serious discussion on shoe etiquette, okay?”

Spencer frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?"

>><<

Almost as if he knows Shane's thinking about him, his phone pings with a new text message.

 _Pete wants pics of bx, get ur ass over here_

Shane grins at the net speak.

 _IDK dude, like, maybe I'm busy?_

A minute later: _Ass_

 _I have been working out, thanks_

 _Ashlee's making lasagna_

Shane sighs, looking up at his computer screen. Ashlee’s lasagna is stupidly awesome. His phone beeps again.

 _And key lime pie_

He hits save and grabs a camera off the table, checking for an extra SD card.

*

They stumble out of the cab, laughing all the way to the door. Spencer's digging in his pockets. "Shit."

"You left them at Pete's, dumbass." Shane pulls out his own keys, unlocking the door.

"Fuck you, dude." He shoves at Shane's back and they both nearly stumble to the floor as the alcohol in his system slows his reaction time.

Laughing, Spencer does his best to right them, sliding an arm around Shane. They both land heavily against the wall in the hallway.

"Oh my god, man. You're a menace." Shane slurs, patting the arm around his stomach. Spencer laughs again, breath dancing across the back of Shane's neck. Shane stills. Half a second later, Spencer's arm tightens minutely and then drops away. He moves around Shane and Shane has a tiny moment where he nearly pulls Spencer back. Shaking his head, he follows Spencer into the living room.

Spencer fumbles into the bedroom, landing face first on the bed. There's mumbling from the pillow and Shane stands in the doorway. "Okay dude, without the pillow?"

Turning his head, Spencer says, "Thanks for coming out. Hanging with us."

"Whatever." Shane leans against the door frame. The room is starting to spin a little. "You know I love Pete and Ashlee. Bronx is like icing on the cake."

"Still. I know you were busy." Spencer’s voice is sleep-slurred in addition to the alcohol in his system. Shane sighs.

"Shut up. And take off your shoes."

"No. Too tired." Spencer kicks them off anyway.

Shane continues to stand in the doorway, watching. Spencer cracks an eye open and asks, "You coming to bed?"

Shane startles then mumbles, "Yeah. Just gonna go brush my teeth."

  
Spencer's already asleep by the time Shane slips into bed. The alcohol in his system makes the thoughts in his head fuzzy and it's not very long before he slips into sleep himself.

*

It takes a moment for Shane to figure out what wakes him up. Spencer makes this noise, pained and low, and Shane rolls over. The sun is thinking about rising, a grey dusting of light lending little illumination to the room. Shane can see Spencer's back, the way his shoulders are raising and falling in a pace that's a little too rapid.

Nightmare.

Shane shifts a little closer, running a hand over Spencer's back. Somewhere in the sleep-softness of his mind, Shane remembers that Brendon has been gone for nearly ten days. It's the longest he's been away in the time that Shane's been staying with Spencer. The entire day at Pete’s makes more sense now.

Abruptly, Spencer rolls over. He tucks in next to Shane, snug along his side. Shane runs naturally warm anyway but the added line of heat lulls him back to sleep as Spencer finally settles.

It's more than a little uncomfortably warm the next time Shane wakes, mostly because Spencer’s no long lying beside him but halfway on top of Shane. An arm is snaked low across his hips and Spencer's face is tucked into the curve of Shane's neck. Warm breath, steady against his skin, lets him know that Spencer's still asleep.

Shane's relief is short-lived. Spencer shifts, his nose brushing along the line of Shane's neck. He mumbles something, the scratch of his beard making Shane shiver at the sensation. His neck is pretty sensitive. Spencer makes another noise and now, from this angle, his breath curves across Shane's collarbone.

Shane can feel his body start to react. Embarrassment and awkwardness should start to settle in and Shane waits for it, willing his erection to stop before things get worse. Only, the embarrassment never hits which is, well, unexpected.

The thing, Shane thinks, is that he's comfortable. The last few months have made him feel at home. It's a lot like being with Regan. There’s a warm body to sleep next to, dinners waiting occasionally, and evenings spent in front of the television. Arguments and dirty laundry as an overall theme for life in their household. It's like a relationship without sex.

And, Shane adds in his head, without love.

But that’s not necessarily true either. He's proven that he'll do whatever Spencer needs, so the emotion is there. However, he's not _in love_ with Spencer, but he’s starting to think that maybe Regan wasn't as far off the mark as he'd supposed.

That's probably the most surprising thing of all. Because it's not like Shane hasn't kissed boys before. College was for experimenting after all and he did hang with the Fine Arts crew.

Spencer's hand tightens on Shane's hip and thoughts pretty much fly right out of Shane’s head. Without consulting his brain, his body jerks in reaction, hips lifting, seeking.

So there's also that thing where it's been a really, _really_ long time since Shane's seen any other action besides his hand.

Spencer shifts even closer, his own hips pressing into Shane. He's hard and Shane’s breath gets a little jagged as Spencer starts these tiny, minute little presses against his body. There's more mumbling against his neck and Shane can swear he hears his own name in there somewhere. It makes his heartbeat speed up a little.

He's about two seconds away from rolling them both over and doing–what, he's not really sure–when Spencer stills. His whole body stiffens and that's when Shane knows for sure that Spencer's finally awake.

Spencer's embarrassment is almost a physical thing and Shane’s trying to come up with a way to diffuse the whole situation when Spencer says eloquently, "Um."

His voice is gravelly, low from sleep, and right in Shane's ear. It takes everything he's got to keep his hips down on the bed. Shane makes a mental note: Spencer's just woken up voice is kind of hot. This may cause some problems from now on seeing as how Shane wakes up next to Spencer a good portion of the week.

"So."

Shane clears his throat, trying to diffuse the situation and his erection, and says, "Spencer Smith, Drummer of Panic! at the Disco and Secret Stealth Cuddler. I do believe the fans will go crazy when they find out."

Spencer is quietly still for another moment and then relaxes, pulling away from Shane and rolling onto his back. Shane determinedly doesn't take note of the fact that Spencer slides a foot up, knee in the air, so that the sheet tents up. It's a pretty slick move, so Shane does the same. Hopefully in a subtle manner.

Something’s off in Spencer voice when he responds. "Our fans are already kind of crazy, and that's why that fact will never see the light of day, Valdes. I'd hate to have to have Zack kill you. Disposing of bodies is so Ted Bundy."

"Wow. You've been watching the _Biography_ channel again, haven't you. You're obsession with serial killers is just a little more than worrisome."

Spencer snorts. "What, you afraid I'm going to eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti?"

"That, Spencer Smith, is incredibly creepy and this is the part where I get out of bed and far away. " In control of his body again, Shane slides out of bed and heads toward the bathroom. Over his shoulder, "You really should look into therapy, Smith. Just sayin'."

"Yeah," he hears Spencer mutter, "Especially after living with you for six months."

>><<

Spencer is fairly positive that Shane is up to something.

He's been doing great, boxing up that little twisty thing that keeps happening in his stomach when Shane is near. When he'd invited Shane to move in, he knew that something was going to have to change. There's no way to maintain a regular life with that stupid flippy feeling, especially not with Shane there pretty much 24/7. So he'd done what he'd always been good at, he compartmentalized. Shoved that feeling to the back of his head and got on with life.

And then ten days ago, he'd woken up practically humping Shane's leg. And God knows what he might have said that night, drunk off his ass. He vaguely recalls laughter, the feeling of being pressed along Shane, but not much else. Nothing, that is, until he’d woken up with a raging hard-on and Shane’s scent surrounding him. Spencer forces himself to stop thinking about it, feeling the way his body reacts to the memory.

Back to Shane and the whole 'trying to kill him' thing.

So it's been ten days since The Incident. Spencer figures he's been hanging around both Brendon and Shane too long if he's starting giving things capital letters in his head, but unfortunately now that it's there like that, it's stuck.

Spencer remembers the exact moment he realized what was happening that morning and he was waiting for Shane’s reaction. But Shane was Shane and he'd laughed it off, giving Spencer the time to recover. Things weren't even awkward because it was like it never happened, like Spencer hadn't been practically molesting Shane in his sleep.

It’s not awkward, not really, except for the fact that Shane keeps _doing_ things. Things like moving through the living room and removing his shirt when he comes in from a run. Things like wandering around the house in nothing but his towel after he takes a shower. It's like The Skin Show all hours, every day now. Shane just laughs it off– _oops, my clothes are in the laundry; oh, hey, Spence, didn't see you there; it's fucking hot outside today, Spence_ –and on and on. He's starting sleeping in only his pajama bottoms, no matter how low Spencer turns the thermostat.

It's driving Spencer crazy.

Shane's apparently given up all rules of personal space as well. Spencer closes the fridge door, Shane's right there. Spencer’s getting something out of the pantry, Shane's there. He’s putting towels in the hall closet, Shane's there. Spencer's sleep is starting to suffer, but this time it has nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with the fact that in the last ten days, he's woken up either wrapped around Shane or with Shane wrapped around him. That's a lot of morning wood, okay? For Christ's sake, he's 22 years old. And all Shane does is smile that sleepy-stupid smile, mumble good morning, and head off to the bathroom.

Spencer tries to suffocate himself on his pillow every morning, but so far it hasn't really worked.

  
*

Spencer's pounding away on his drum set, sweat sliding down the side of his face. His hands are slipping on the sticks and he tightens his grip, drumming harder. Three beats later, one of the sticks shatters and Spencer throws it viciously against the wall with a loud, " _Fuck_!"

"Everything okay?"

Shane's standing in the doorway. He's wearing that stupid beanie hat, most likely because he hadn't wanted to try to do anything with his hair, Spencer knows. There's a look on his face. Concern, yeah, but his eyes are sharp on Spencer. From where Spencer's sitting he can see the line of tension in the arm Shane's using to lean against the door frame. The question is casual, concerned, but there's something else in his voice that Spencer can't quite place. He drops his head, the other drumstick falls to the floor and Spencer runs a hand through his hair. He's dripping in sweat.

"Yeah, fine," he mutters. Stepping around his kit, he goes to leave the room. Shane barely moves and Spencer brushing up against him. He swears Shane sniffs him and he mumbles, "Sorry."

"Spencer."

There's a hand on his arm, stopping him. He doesn't look up. "What, Shane."

"Spencer," Shane repeats. His voice is low, lower than Spencer's ever heard it and he finally looks up.

Shane's breath is fast and Spencer can see the way his heartbeat rabbits at the hollow of his throat, but it's Shane's eyes that really catch his attention. They're dark, the pupil nearly drowning out all the color. Shane's hand tightens on his arm. It almost hurts.

"What the fuck?" Spencer blurts out, trying to pull his arm away. Shane doesn't let go. "What's going on with you? Why are you doing this shit to me?"

Something his voice causes Shane to pause, loosen his hand. A second later it drops away and Shane leans back against the door frame. Spencer watches Shane run his hands over his face, breathing deep. He mumbles between his fingers, "Shit, Spence."

"Shit," he repeats. Finally looking up, he tells Spencer, "I've been kind of a dick and I know it. It's just." Sighing, Shane shakes his head.

Before Spencer can stop himself, he blurts out, "I didn't really think you were into dudes."

"I didn't either. I mean," the corner of Shane's mouth tips up, "I kissed a few boys in college, but that was all games and shit." The smile drops away again. "That's what shocked me the most, I guess, when Regan accused me of basically cheating on her right in front of her face."

"Wait," Spencer holds up a hand. "Regan thought we were, um," he grimaces, "that you were cheating on her? With me? Christ, I thought that she was just tired of you being here all the time. What the hell, Shane?"

"I thought she was crazy, okay? It was ridiculous to think that we'd–" He breaks off. Spencer can see a flush spread across the tops of Shane's cheeks. It's cute and oh god, Spencer's got it pretty bad. Shit. He stays still, when Shane looks up at Spencer. There's not that much height difference between the two of them, an inch, maybe a little more.

"It was ridiculous to think that way about us, or so I thought–"

He bites his lip and Spencer automatically looks down. Shane's tongue flashes out, leaving his bottom lip wet and shiny. Spencer’s left eye twitches.

"Until the other morning when–"

"Yeah," Spencer interrupts, his own face getting hot. "I remember."

"But the thing is, Spence, is that it didn't bother me. Like, at all. So I started thinking–"

Spencer zones out as Shane keeps talking. Instead, he focuses on the fact that Shane's hand is back on his arm, like he's forgotten that he put it there. During this excruciatingly embarrassing conversation, it's been flexing. One moment tightening, the next, it loosens. It wouldn't be that big a deal if for the fact that every time Shane tightens his grip, he kind of pulls Spencer towards him. It's a tiny movement, but it keeps Spencer close to Shane. And that is just distracting. Like Shane's mouth and the blush on his cheeks. And the way Shane's stupid curls are trying to escape out that damn beanie hat Spencer kind of despises.

"Fuck it," Spencer mumbles and Shane stops, startled.

"What?"

"I said," he leans in, sliding a hand around Shane's neck. He thumbs Shane's chin up. "Fuck it."  
Shane's mouth opens almost immediately. It's a little strange, the scrape of his beard against Shane's scruff, but he responds easily and Spencer quits thinking when a hand settles on his hip. The fingers dig into the skin right above his jeans and Spencer tilts his head, deepening the kiss. He crowds in closer.  
Shane’s laughing when Spencer pulls away.

"What?" he asks, frowning.

"I'll take that as a yes then?" Spencer really digs the way Shane's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

"Yes to what?" More making out, definitely.

Shane rolls his eyes. "Way to actually listen when your friends are trying to negotiate you getting laid, Spencer Smith."

"Oh. _Oh_." Spencer moves back in. "Definitely a yes to that then. Now, less talking, more kissing."

Shane laughs again, but complies readily. They spend most of the remainder of the day making out lazily on the couch and Spencer is just fine with that.

>><<

They agree to try it out, to take things slowly. Spencer admits that it's not the first time he's messed around with a guy. Ryan could be really persuasive when he was younger, Spencer tells him that evening, and Shane laughs until he falls off the couch. Spencer kicks him and refuses to bring him a beer when he heads off to the kitchen.

So yes, they agree to try this whole thing out, but almost instantly it's like they can't keep their hands off each other. Making out doesn't get old, not really, it's just that they both want more almost immediately. Also, come in your underwear is an uncomfortable mess they discover.

So kissing progresses to handjobs. If there's one thing that Shane knows now is that if he's going to date (or enter into mutually beneficial sexual relations) with a musician, it's definitely going to be drummers because Jesus Christ, Spencer's _hands_.

Within a week or so, they move into blowjob territory. The first time is a failure of massive, hysterical proportions and it's only by sheer force of a lot of begging that Shane gets a second chance. Shane's not overly impressed with the taste of dick, but he loves the way Spencer can barely keep still, the way the tendons in his neck become taut and how Spencer's hands tighten in his hair when he comes.

So he likes that. That, and the fact that Spencer reciprocates.

And if there's one thing that's better than Spencer's hands, it's Spencer's mouth. Spencer pulls back, mouth shiny and swollen, and Shane comes without warning. Strips of white streak across Spencer's bottom lip, a little across his cheek, and he gets a glare. Before Spencer can bitch him out, Shane drops to his knees and licks into Spencer's mouth. Apparently Shane's okay with come as long as it's on Spencer.

After that, Spencer doesn't seem to mind either.

*

Shane's reaching up for a glass when he feels a warm, solid body slide behind him. Spencer's always been respectful of people's personal space, so it's a little surprising that he's got a huge crowding kink. When hips press him further into the counter, Shane just laughs.

"Smith, you've got issues, dude."

"I'll show you issues," he mumbles into the back of Shane's neck. Laughing, he tries to turn around but an arm comes around his stomach, keeping him in place. Spencer's hips press in again and Shane can feel him getting hard through the thin material of his boxers.

Leaning forward a little, Shane says, "I've got a meeting in an hour."

"Yeah, yeah." Spencer’s teeth scrape the skin under Shane's ear. His hips are doing those tiny little pulses, cock getting harder, and Shane breathes out a quiet _fuck_. Spencer hums an agreement.

Shane really wants to touch himself now but when he moves his hand, Spencer grabs his wrist, pressing it down on the counter top. His hips push harder. It's a little painful, the counter digging into sensitive flesh, but there's enough of an edge of pleasure to it that Shane doesn't object.

Spencer's breath is hot and fast against his throat. Shane presses back and he feels it falter. Spencer moans a second later, low and a little wild, and Shane can't help pushing back again. He can feel every inch of Spencer's cock pressed against his ass, he's so hard now.

The hand falls away from his wrist, not before pushing it down firmly, a stay-put warning. Shane doesn't care as long as it means someone's going to touch his dick. Except that Spencer doesn't move to help him out, instead he starts tugging Shane's boxers down. He doesn't take them all the way off though, and it's Shane's breath that catches this time when Spencer moves away and comes back a second later, skin to skin. Pre-come smears against the small of his back. They've jacked each other off before, hands wrapped around each other, but this is the closest anyone's dick has come to someone's ass.

"Spencer–"

"Fuck. Fuck, Shane, just." Spencer's hands are back on his hips, fingers digging in. He's sliding easily in the cleft of Shane's ass. " _Please_."

He slips, pulling back too far, and he slides down instead of up. His cock drags over Shane's hole and Shane comes messily against the counter, unexpectedly. Spencer mutters a ragged, "Did you–?" before he jerks and Shane can feel wetness against his ass and across his back.

They both stand there, breathing hard and trying to settle back down. Shane's legs feel like wet spaghetti noodles and by the faint tremble of the body behind him, he's pretty sure Spencer's not much better off. A few minutes pass in silence and Shane can feel a different kind of tension coming over Spencer.

"M'gonna be so late," he mutters. There's a pause and then Spencer starts shaking behind him, soundless laughter. "Dick," Shane throws over his shoulder.

Spencer pushes forward again, lightly. Shane grimaces at the slip-slide of the mess across his back, but can’t help laughing out loud when Spencer says proudly, "You know it."

*

It's not like they're _trying_ to hide it from Brendon. Shane tells him they couldn't anyway, not really, but doesn't ever explain to Spencer why. So no, they're not hiding, but they are trying to be discreet. Given who Spencer is and the fact that Pete would never, _ever_ shut up about it, they've done their best to keep whatever it is they’re doing to themselves.

Spencer's got his tongue in Shane's mouth and a hand creeping up the back of Shane's shirt when the door to the music room flies open.

"Hey guys, I've got– _Oh_."

Brendon looks absolutely floored, mouth hanging open. It snaps shut a second later, and from where Spencer's standing he can see how tight Brendon's jaw is before he turns on his heel and walks right back out.

"Brendon–" Spencer moves to go after him, but Shane stops him.

"Let me talk to him first, okay?" He's about to protest when Shane pleads softly, "Please?"

He nods and Shane leans up to kiss him, the barest press of lips to his. He heads out of the room calling for Brendon down the hallway. At first there's nothing, then the low murmur of voices. Occasionally, Brendon's voice will rise and Spencer flinches each time it does. He's being a total coward and he knows it, but he's not quite sure what to say to Brendon.

There's a half-shout and Spencer thinks _fuck it_ and goes out to the living room. He pauses at the end of the hallway, watching the two of them.

Brendon won't look Shane in the eye, no matter what Shane says. Their voices are low again, furious whispers and from where Spencer's standing he can see Brendon's profile, the line of tension that's strings Brendon's body taut as a bow. He moves forward without thinking.

Spencer’s seen Brendon angry before. The last few months before Jon and Ryan decided to go one way and Brendon and Spencer the other, there were a few moments between Brendon and Ryan that he was afraid one of them was going to throw a punch and that would be it. That was it, of course, but the end came without any blows.

So yeah, Spencer's seen Brendon angry before, but this is–Spencer isn't sure exactly how to explain it.

A split second after he lays his hand on Brendon's shoulder, there's a look on his face, some kind of hurt, that makes Spencer pause. However, whatever it is that he’s seeing is lost the moment his hand touches Brendon.

All hell breaks loose.

Brendon snarls–that's the only thing Spencer can really think to call it later–and snaps his head around so fast that it takes a moment to register the fact that Brendon's just bitten him. Not only did he bite Spencer, but blood immediately starts welling up. It stains Brendon's mouth a brilliant red and Spencer shouts, jerking his hand away.

In retrospect, it's not the smartest move, but Jesus Christ, Brendon just bit him. Case in point, Brendon's teeth are still deep in the flesh of Spencer’s hand so that when he pulls his hand back, it tears deeper.

"Fuck!!"

Spencer cradles his bleeding hand with his uninjured one. Both Brendon and Shane are staring at his hand, barely moving. Brendon's chest is heaving as he takes in big gulps of air. His eyes have this flat, distant look in them. His mouth is stained bright red. Nobody moves.

Spencer swears he can hear the first drop of blood when it hits the carpet.

The other two seem to do the same because Brendon jerks, eyes blinking back into focus and a hand reaching up to his mouth. His fingertips come away wet, the blood smeared across his chin. His gaze snaps from Spencer to Shane. There's no anger left in Brendon now, only shock, and as he stares at Shane, Spencer bets that the wildness at the corners of Brendon's eyes is laced with terror.

"What?" He darts a look between the two. "You got something I should be worried about, Brendon?"

He doesn't get an answer, and he snaps, "Brendon!"

"No! Jesus, Spencer–"

" _Brendon._ "

"Fuck you, I'm clean!" He yells even though he can't stop staring at the blood pooling in Spencer's cupped palm.

The torn flesh is starting to throb and it _hurts_ and Brendon fucking _bit him_. Spencer snaps back, "Fuck you, you fucking _bit me!_ I think I'm entitled to ask."

Anger sparks in Brendon's eyes again and he starts tensing up, moving into Spencer's space when Shane puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder. It's higher, nearly cupping the curve of Brendon's neck in his hand and Brendon just. Stops. All the tension disappears, melting away like water.

This shit is really, really starting to hurt. Also, his hand is starting to look like a bad horror movie, the blood accumulating rather rapidly. Spencer clears his throat.

"Unless someone actually likes cleaning blood out of hardwood floors, I suggest we visit the ER." He can feel the warm slide of blood off his elbow. "Also, a towel would probably be really good about now."

Things go back to being extremely frantic after that.

  
[Part Three](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14674.html)


	4. a thin line between - part three

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic band: p!atd](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20band%3A%20p%21atd), [fic challenge: werewolfbigbang](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20challenge%3A%20werewolfbigbang), [fic pairing: shane/spencer](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20pairing%3A%20shane%2Fspencer)  
  
---|---  
  
_**a thin line between - part three**_  
[Master Post](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13906.html) | [Part One](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14092.html) | [Part Two](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14544.html) | Part Three | [Part Four](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14902.html) | [Fanmix](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13603.html)

  
_Brendon's never had anyone to run with before._

They're side by side, tearing through the woods like the wind. At least that's what it feels like to Brendon, the bushes and trees a blur as he goes by. It's the strangest feeling, moving on an instinct that's faster than his human brain can process. His feet know exactly where to hit, how much pressure it will take to shift mere inches away from an upcoming log. He can hear Shane beside him, running near his flank.

Shane as a wolf is disturbingly similar to Shane as a human. Quiet, soft. A comforting presence, whether it's sprawling out across the moss-cool floor of the forest, or tearing through it just to feel the power the wolf body holds.

Shane had known instantly what Brendon was, but it wasn't until Brendon opened the back door to a long-legged, black wolf that he'd finally understood the sense of recognition _that was always under his skin around Shane. The wolf had butted up against Brendon's hand, so he'd slid his fingers over the top of the animal's head. The wolf came up nearly to his waist and the hair under his hand was wiry, slightly curly. Brendon had laughed then, digging his fingers in. Shane looked up at him with those stupid, sharp blue-green eyes and for the first time, Brendon felt comfortable in his own skin._

As they continue to dodge and jump, their bodies in tandem, Brendon doesn't know what he did to deserve him, but he's never letting Shane go.

~*~

The stitches come out about six days later.

It's amazing that he lasts that long; the final couple of days are hell. An itchy, itchy hell. Spencer threatens to take them out himself, but Shane drags him back to the doctor and Spencer bitches the whole way.

"This is stupid. Why should I have to spend another $500 to have some stupid doctor remove these when I could do it in five minutes with some scissors and tweezers." He tugs at the bandage they'd put on to keep him from scratching at it.

Shane reaches over, slapping at him. "Because asswipe, you're not qualified. Also, we don't have any scissors." Spencer's about to argue that buying a new pair of scissors is better than a doctor's bill, but Shane adds, "And he wants to check it out, seeing as how it's a dog bite."

Spencer stays silent.

None of them had thought about what to tell the doctor, what with Spencer bleeding everywhere. It wasn't until the doctor had asked what happened and the room was silent for a moment too long, that Brendon told him that Spencer was bitten by Bogart. There'd been a lot of questions after that, all of them rushing to reassure the doctor that it was a one-time thing. Spencer had startled him and he'd snapped. The doctor was skeptical, but Brendon gave him the number of his vet, told him he'd bring records if needed.

It was a lie, yeah, but it was a hell of a lot better than telling him what really happened.

Spencer sighs, reaching for the bandage again. Shane makes a noise, a little _nuh-uh_ that makes Spencer scowl but drop his hand.

The whole thing sucks for other reasons, too. They've had to put recording on hold, for one. Which would have been hard anyway since Brendon's been ignoring Spencer since the incident. Subtly ignoring–as subtle as Brendon can be anyway–but still, it's starting to piss Spencer off.

The car stops and Spencer looks up to find they're at the hospital. Shane shuts the car off and grins. "Come on, Grumpy."

"Finally," Spencer mutters. He closes the door extra hard.

>><<

The wound heals and leaves a thin, but distinct, white scar. Spencer takes to rubbing it absently, something that makes Shane wary. Brendon finally shows up, head down, apologizing over and over until Spencer tackles him. He sits on Brendon's stomach and tickles him until Brendon finally yells that Spencer is an asshole who deserves everything he got, what with sleeping with his best friend and not saying anything. That seems to satisfy Spencer even though Shane sees the look Brendon sends his way.

A month passes and nothing happens. Both Brendon and Shane breathing easier for that.

In the ensuing relief, Shane can't be blamed for not noticing what _does_ happen. In fact, it's nearly another month before he notices what's different.

Spencer's no longer having nightmares.

There's no more restless sleep, no need for Shane to slide into bed, other than the fact that they're accustomed to sleeping together, and you know, sex. Brendon's around more often, too. Energy high, he seems even more alert and sharper somehow.

Shane would write it off except for the morning the two of the stumble in from the studio, voices high and excited. The sun's barely in the sky and Shane's startled awake on the couch. Their voices tumble over each other–

"Dude, _dude_. I don't know where you came up with that combo–"

"What about that line? That is so good, B, you don't even know–"

Shane sits up, head clearing the back of the couch, to stare at the two of them. Brendon's practically vibrating in place. Not that it's unusual for him, but it's–the only word Shane can think of is _contained_. And Spencer's energy is palpable, eyes bright with excitement. He's rubbing his thumb over the scar.

"Shane!"

He drags his eyes up, watching as Spencer strides over, dropping a quick kiss on his mouth. Brendon gags behind him. "Shut up, Bren," he throws over his shoulder. "Did you fall asleep on the couch?" he asks Shane, a little smile on his face. Spencer's eyes are clear and Shane knows in that instant that he's right, something has changed and the nightmares are gone.

Shaking himself out of that revelation, he pushes off the couch. Something heavy settles in his chest. "Yeah." Scrubbing at his face, he goes on. "And since you fuckers woke me up, I’m going to go sleep in an actual bed now."

He can feel Spencer's gaze on him as he wanders down the hall. For the first time in he can't remember when, Shane turns left instead of right. The sheets are cool and unfamiliar, but he falls asleep again within minutes.

*

Later that afternoon, he stumbles into the kitchen. He sniffs the coffee that's still in the pot and nearly jumps out of his skin when Spencer says, "It's pretty fresh. I made it about an hour ago."

"Jesus, Spence! You nearly gave me a heart attack." Shane avoids looking at the kitchen table as he grabs a cup, dumping a couple of teaspoons of Splenda in his coffee. Spencer remains silent until Shane's done and he has to turn around. Shane leans back against the counter, taking a deep breath, the cup of coffee nearly up his nose. Finally looking over at Spencer, he says, "So you and Brendon have a good session?"

It's obvious this is not what Spencer wants to discuss, but Shane is glad when he only responds with, "Yeah, it was great. The album is nearly done, I think."

"That's good then–"

Shane's relief is short-lived when Spencer interrupts. "What's going on, Shane?"

"I don't know what you mean–"

"Do you want to stop?" Spencer frowns. "Is that what this is about?"

"What? I never said–What gave you that idea?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed, okay?" Shane shakes his head, bewildered. "We haven't, you know." Spencer blushes and rolls his eyes at himself. "Not for the last couple of days. And this morning you went to _your_ room, not ours. On purpose, don't think I didn't see that bullshit."

Spencer pushes back from the table and Shane winces at the screech of the chair across the linoleum. He keeps his chin down, watching as Spencer's feet come into view.

"Seriously, Shane, if you want to stop doing this–"

" _No._ "

Shane finally looks up. Brilliant blue eyes are staring hard at him and Shane's suddenly pretty sure that he's kind of fallen in love with Spencer. It's one too many realizations for the day and he sighs. "No, of course not. It's just–"

It's not going to be long before Spencer figures out about the nightmares, and Shane really, really needs to talk to Brendon, too. But damn it, he's just realized that he's in love and it's completely unexpected and he's not prepared for this shit again. Setting his coffee down, he slides his arms around Spencer. With his forehead on Spencer's shoulder, he repeats, "No, no I don't want to stop."

Spencer's arms come around him, holding tight. Shane's sure he hears Spencer mutter _idiot_ under his breath, but he ignores it.

*

Panic! finishes their album and Shane gets to hang around his cousin and Dallon for a few days while they prep for tour. It's only a few weeks long, but it's been a while since the band has performed.

Way too soon it's the night before they leave. Spencer's phone goes off for the thirtieth time.

"Yo, Zack." There's a pause, then, "What am I, new?" The last part is punctuated with a fond eye roll, Shane can tell.

"Yes. Yes. No, he's– _What?!_ "

Shane feels the look more than he sees it, but the way Spencer's voice pitches up makes him look over. Spencer's staring at him, face flushed, and Shane instantly knows they're talking about.

"Did Brendon tell–Oh." Spencer frowns down at his shoes and asks in a quiet voice, "Really?"

Whatever Zack tells him on the other end, it must be reassuring because a moment later he's back to snarking at Zack. "Seriously, dude. I'm pretty sure I know how to pack for tour–That was _one_ time, asshole!"

There are a few more agreement sounds and then a long pause. Shane glances over again, just as Spencer says in a low voice, "No, he's staying here." He looks up and Shane drops his gaze, turning back to his laptop. A minute later, the couch dips and Spencer becomes a line of warmth against his side.

They sit in silence, Shane's mind a whirlwind of random thoughts until finally he blurts out, "You didn't ask."

"What?"

Shane feels like a twelve-year old girl. He waves a hand, mumbling, "Nothing. Forget it."

It's not much, but Spencer shifts. They're barely touching now and Shane wants to go bang his head against the wall. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Spencer shrugs. "I figured you'd be busy. Your calendar–" Shane's color-coded work calendar is the butt of many an anal-retentive joke, but it's a very clear time table for Shane's availability, "–was pretty full for the tour, so I didn't think you'd want to come with us."

Nodding, Shane's quick to add, "No, no, you're right. I've got shit lined up for the next three weeks." He keeps his focus on the laptop, not looking over like he wants to. "So yeah."

With a huge sigh, Spencer slumps further down into the couch. He leans back into Shane's side, resting his head against Shane's shoulder. It can't be comfortable for him, but neither of them move for a long time.

*

They're about two-thirds of the way through the tour. Long enough for the excitement to have worn off and the longing for their beds at home to be on the upward curve of Things I'd Like Most Right Now. Well, that and a really good beer.

They've got the next day off, so Spencer heads out with Brendon. Ian's got a tour cold, sacked out in his bunk and dosed with dangerous levels of NyQuil. Spencer's pretty sure he's not going to surface for the next twelve hours. Dallon's usually up for trouble, but he waves them off from the back lounge. He holds up his laptop and they both wave to Breezy, laughing as Dallon turns the computer back with a big, dopey grin.

The club they end up at isn't overly loud or crowded, something that Spencer appreciates. Within minutes Brendon's disappeared and Zack's somewhere, being stealthily diligent as usual. He's halfway through a text to Shane when someone sits on the stool beside his. It's crowded enough that their elbow knocks into Spencer’s. A voice murmurs _sorry_ and he glances up, fingers stilling.

The girl is striking, with pale, pale skin and a fall of dark hair. Even though the lighting is low, Spencer can tell that her eyes are either blue or green, and so crystal clear as to look unreal. The line of long, thick lashes only accentuates them even more. She smiles at him and Spencer blinks, uneasy.

A hand appears on her shoulder, another head dipping down to speak low into her ear. She turns her head to listen, but keeps her eyes on Spencer. She says something in response that Spencer doesn't hear and her companion lifts his head. Unlike her strange, light eyes, his are dark, nearly black inside the club. There's something heated and lazy in his gaze, inviting, and Spencer swallows hard. She leans in toward Spencer, indicating that she wants to say something to him. He watches as the guy's arm slides around her waist and he moves in with her.

Spencer leans forward.

It's kind of hard to concentrate on the words as her fingertips come up to rest on his arm, stroking lightly over his skin. Spencer gets the vague thought that she's reveling in something that lies under his skin. He shakes the thought off, it's ridiculous. He tunes in to catch the last part of her conversation.

"–haven't seen you before."

She laughs, like she knows it sounds like a horrible pick-up line, and that makes Spencer relax a little. He flashes a quick grin. "Just passing through, heading out tomorrow."

The look in her eyes dims a fraction. She tilts her chin back toward her companion and he moves in closer, some unspoken conversation taking place in those few motions.

"That's too bad." She leans in again, looking Spencer straight in the eye. "But that doesn't mean–"

Spencer knows that Brendon is behind him even before he feels the hand land on his shoulder, before her words halt as Brendon half-shouts his name. That's been happening a lot the last few weeks. There's something else, too.

Spencer's been around Brendon long enough to read him fairly well, but ever since they left on this tour it's like Spencer has some kind of mood sensitivity meter that plugs directly into Brendon. It's the strangest thing. For instance, Spencer knows the moment that Brendon goes from loose and happy to wary. Brendon's emotions have always been lightning quick in their transitions; it's something that Spencer's used to. Feeling it is a little distracting, however.

He's not prepared for the low _growl_ that rumbles in the back of Brendon's throat. It's barely audible and Spencer would think he'd imagined it if the couple in front of him hadn't gone instantly still.

"Did you just fucking _growl_ , Brendon? What the hell."

Spencer turns to look at Brendon, expecting a smile, some laughter, but Brendon's practically bristling. His hand on Spencer's shoulder is almost painfully tight and he’s got eyes only for the woman in front of them.

Looking back, Spencer watches something flash in her eyes, feels the way her fingers on his arm tremble then tighten for a split second. A moment later they loosen and fall away. She doesn't really move, but all of a sudden Spencer feels some distance between the two of them. He looks up, at the man behind her. He's got an air of relaxation about him but his eyes are on Brendon, intense.

The girl laughs.

It breaks the tension and startled, Spencer looks at her. She rolls those wicked eyes, the corners of her mouth tilting up as she pats the arm around her waist. "Boys," she says to Spencer. To Brendon, "Back down, honey, message received."

She slides off the stool and they step back, for real this time. Brendon doesn't seem to relax even as the move away. Spencer can still feel his body, wired for action.

As they walk away, the woman calls over her shoulder, "You really shouldn't leave your property unattended though, especially not around here." With one last smirk, they disappear into the crowd.

"Property?"

Spencer swings around on the stool. Brendon's frowning, still staring after the two. Spencer has to say his name three times before he gets Brendon's attention. "What the hell was _that_ about?"

"I don't know," Brendon finally answers. Spencer tilts his head, studying him. He's ridiculously still even though tension thrums through him. Spencer can tell he's not lying, not really, but there's definitely something else under that. Brendon's eyes flicker over Spencer's shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other, and Spencer would swear that there's something like fear at the corner of his eyes.

"Brendon?" Spencer doesn't really know what he's asking but for a split second, he can _see_ the fear in Brendon, can taste it.

It's fucking _weird._

Opening his mouth, Brendon's saved from answering as Zack claps him on the shoulder. "Everything okay here?"

Relief washes over Brendon's face and he's quick to answer, "Yeah, everything's great!"

Zack raises an eyebrow at Spencer. He shrugs, offering up a toast with his beer. "You heard the man, Zack. Everything's good."

He gets a _I don't believe you but I'll let it go this time_ look and a hand on his shoulder that squeezes tight enough that Spencer winces. Brendon's back to nearly vibrating in place, composing an ode to beer in Zack's name and leaning across Spencer to motion at the bartender. It's like the whole last fifteen minutes never even happened.

Spencer wishes he knew what the hell was going on; it's giving him a fucking headache.

*

The line for cabs is ridiculous and Zack steps away to call for the van, warning the two of them to stay close.

The head further down the sidewalk, taking up an empty space on the wall. Brendon digs out his cigarettes, fumbling around in his pocket for a lighter. After a minute of fruitless searching, Spencer sighs and pulls one out, striking it up. Brendon grins and leans in, murmuring, "Always prepared, huh, Spence?"

Spencer rolls his eyes, watching as Brendon takes a long drag. "Have to be, with you around."

A hand to his heart and a kicked puppy dog expression, Brendon pouts. "You wound me, Spencer Smith. Wound me to my very soul."

Spencer snorts in response, but doesn't say anything else. They stand there, shoulders against the wall and facing each other, as Brendon continues to suck down his cigarette. He's almost done when Spencer opens his mouth to ask about earlier. Brendon stills, cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at something over Spencer's shoulder.

A second later he drops his cigarette and moves in closer to Spencer, almost as if he's going to go around him, but he stops by Spencer's shoulder. Even if they weren't close enough that Spencer can see it, he can practically feel the tension from earlier coming off Brendon. He knows what he'll see even before he swings around.

It’s the woman again, only now she's got a couple more people with her. They’re both male, all watching her intently. Spencer glances back over his shoulder for Zack, but he can't see him through the crowd in front of the club. Dammit.

"I thought we were done with this." Brendon's voice is low, irritated. The woman gives him a slow, saccharine smile.

"I changed my mind."

She moves her gaze over to Spencer and her smile changes, warming, and almost genuine. She looks him up and down, like she can't wait to see him naked. It feels familiar which disconcerts him. It takes a second for Spencer to realize _why_ it feels familiar. It's the look that Shane's been giving him for the last month before they'd left on tour. She's hot and it's been a few weeks since Spencer's seen anything but his own hand. Still, it doesn't account for the whole ritual feel of what's going on.

"Why?"

There's something low and dangerous in Brendon's voice. It makes Spencer want to shake him, ask where all this is coming from. Why hasn't he ever seen this side of Brendon? Just what the _hell_ is going on?

She shrugs, stepping in clos to Spencer. "He's not marked."

A low rumble from Brendon has Spencer snapping his head to stare. She just laughs.

"Oh, honey. You really want to try?"

A couple of the guys move forward and Spencer may not know what's going on, but he knows when they’re outnumbered. There's no way in hell they're doing this, but Brendon must not get the memo because he's moving forward immediately.

Spencer slams his hand into Brendon's chest to stop him. Brendon halts, but his heart is pounding under Spencer's hand, his body tight with contained energy. He moves his hand to Brendon's shoulder, dipping his head down to say something quietly, to try to calm Brendon down, when he hears the woman's breath catch.

Her demeanor shifts instantly. She pulls Spencer's hand down and Brendon growls–actually fuckin' _growls_ and seriously, what the fuck even _is_ that?–but she ignores him. She runs a finger over the scar, the motion almost reverent. Already disconcerted by the whole encounter and especially Brendon's behavior, Spencer pulls his hand back. She lets it go without protest.

"Well," she murmurs. She glances back to Brendon. "My apologies, it appears I was wrong."

She sounds less than apologetic, but something _has_ changed, and there’s a different air about her now. Not fear, but respect, maybe. It’s grudging, Spencer notes. She's not happy with the turn of events, but she's changed her mind about how far she’s willing to go to get what she wants.

Stepping away, she nods to Spencer then looks back to Brendon. As a group they moving away, but she never turns her back, not until after she tells Brendon, "Try not to be so disrespectful next time you enter someone's territory, honey."

She gives Spencer one last glance. "And you should treat your Companion better–"

She says companion like it's important, like it's _different_.

"Or someone might take him away." There's a tiny lip bite, a smirk, and then she turns and walks away. The men pull in close around her.

 _Like a circle of protection_ , Spencer thinks.

He has no idea what the hell just happened.

*

They're walking down the hotel hallway and Brendon still won't answer Spencer's questions. In fact, he hasn't said more than three words since Zack suddenly appeared, van ready to get them back to the hotel.

"No, seriously, Brendon. What's with the _growling?_ And what was she talking about, property?"

He's standing behind Brendon, watching him fumble with his key card. The light flashes red, once, twice. Brendon takes a deep breath, tries again and this time the light goes green. He moves into the room and Spencer is half a step behind him, ready to push the issue some more.

"Come on, B, what the hell was that about–"

Brendon turns abruptly and Spencer stumbles back into the hallway. Waving a hand in frustration, Brendon’s voice is tight when he says, "I don't know, okay? I have absolutely no fucking clue. Got it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just runs a hand through his hair. The look on his face is frustrated, a little frantic. "I've never seen–That's the first time. Shane's the–"

Brendon snaps his mouth shut immediately, lips pressing together until they're almost white. Spencer narrows his eyes. "What's Shane got to do with this?"

"Nothing, Spence." Shaking his head, Brendon mumbles, "Jesus, I'm really fucking tired."

So is Spencer. "I need answers."

Brendon sighs and Spencer knows it, can _feel_ the sadness descend on Brendon as he says, "I don't have them." There's a small, wistful smile and then, "I wish I did."

A moment later the door closes in Spencer's face.

He considers beating on it until Brendon opens up again, but knows it won't do any good. Brendon’s telling the truth, he really doesn't have any answers. With a sigh, Spencer heads to his own room.

A few minutes later, he's sprawled comfortably across his bed. The entire night keeps replaying over and over in his head, but he can't make heads or tails of it. The mention of Shane makes him want to call, but it's really late so Spencer resists the urge.

He flips the phone over and over, thoughts still going around his head, until he sighs. A text message then, that’s a safe bet. If Shane's awake, he'll answer and if not, Spencer knows he's probably asleep.

He's not real sure what to send though. Finally, he settles on _Some strange stuff went down tonight, don't know what to think about it_. His finger hesitates over the send button. He adds, _and Brendon's being weirder than usual. Help?_

Shane doesn't text back and Spencer isn’t sure how he feels about that, relieved or not, but he falls asleep waiting.

*

The last three days of tour are tense.

Dallon and Ian have no idea what happened, but they've started clearing out if Brendon and Spencer are in the same room. Spencer knows he's to blame for the tension, but the whole incident was weird. Brendon was weird. It's all fucking _weird_. Shane's not any help because he won't answer his god-damned phone and Spencer so frustrated that he wants to punch something. Mostly Brendon by this point, but if Shane doesn't call him back soon, he'll be next on the list.

And there's something else, that feeling thing. Not only can he see how irritated Brendon is with him, he _feels_ it constantly. It's like a low-level itch under his skin, tempered by distance, but continuously present.

It's fucking _freaking_ him out and Brendon won't help.

  
"I _can't_ answer your damned questions, get it through your thick head!" Brendon shouts at him.

Spencer rubs his arms, moving to put the length of the dressing room between them. Dallon pulled the first shower and Ian knows better than to stick around, so they're alone. He's cold, the air conditioning blowing on his sweat-dampened skin, but Brendon's irritation thing is hot underneath it. The dueling sensations are disconcerting.

"I'm sorry, but I find that really, really hard to believe. You have to have _some_ idea–"

Brendon snarls at him and Spencer gestures wildly at him. "That! That right there, Brendon! What the fuck _is_ that?"

Brendon's anger and frustration is palpable in the room, tension in every line of his body. He glares at Spencer and for a split second–Spencer nearly misses it–something shimmies under his skin. Spencer blinks, startled, snapping out of it a second later when Brendon yells at him.

"Fuck you, Spencer. I said I don't–"

" _Enough!_ "

Zack's standing in the doorway, glaring at both of them. "I don't know what the fuck's going on between the two of you, but this shit stops now."

"Yeah, it does," Brendon mutters. Before Spencer can stop him, he slips past Zack and down the hall. He moves to follow, but Zack steps in to block his way.

"Let it go, Spence." Zack says. His voice is low again, sympathetic. "Whatever it is, let it go for a while."

With a heavy sigh, Spencer drops his chin to his chest. The buzz under his skin fades as Brendon gets further away.

*

Brendon refuses to talk to him after that, meeting everything Spencer says with a stony wall of silence until finally Spencer throws his arms in the air.

"Fine." He nods, staring at Brendon. "We'll do it your way."

The flight home is cold, nobody willing to trade seats with either of them. Zack rolls his eyes at Spencer, buckles his seat belt and says, "Suck it up, Smith."

He turns to see Dallon shaking his head apologetically at Brendon. He's gesturing at Ian, nearly asleep in the seat next to him still recovering from being sick. Brendon glances over his shoulder at Spencer, then shrugs and slides into his seat.

"I get the window," he mutters. Spencer resists snorting. He hates the window anyway. Sitting down, he watches the flight attendant as she walks up and down the aisle. Brendon shifts towards the window, as far as he can get from Spencer.

They're halfway through the flight and Spencer's fiddling with his phone. Shane still hasn't responded to any of his calls or texts. He's been thinking of calling Shane's parents or, his stomach twists, Regan, to see if they've heard from him.

"Have you talked to Shane lately?" he asks abruptly. Brendon jumps in his seat and Spencer realizes that he'd nearly been asleep. He's two seconds away from apologizing when he remembers that he's pissed at Brendon.

"What?"

Irritated, Spencer shoves his phone back in his pocket and huffs out, "Never mind."

He can feel the eye roll even without looking. However, a few minutes later, Brendon asks quietly, "Shane hasn't called you? I thought you dudes were all together and shit."

"We're in a mutually beneficial relationship–" Brendon snorts. "But no, I haven't heard a thing in four days."

Brendon's silent for a minute, then he mutters, "No." At Spencer's glance, he clarifies. "I haven't talked to him lately."

The rest of the flight passes in silence, Brendon staring out the window while Spencer tilts his seat back and pretends to sleep.

>><<

Shane can tell something's wrong almost immediately. Even if he hadn't noticed the way Brendon and Spencer would barely look at each other or the wariness that fell off of Dallon and Ian in waves, Zack slapping him on the shoulder and saying, "Good luck," with a wide, pained smile, would have definitely clued him in.

"You look like shit," Spencer tells him as they're waiting by the luggage carousel. The two of them are a few steps away from the others and Spencer's face holds anger edged with concern. "Also, you suck at answering your phone. What the hell?"

"Sorry–" a huge, jaw-cracking yawn breaks him off. "Long days with the current project."

Spencer squints, studying Shane. It's obvious that he doesn't quite believe Shane.

"I haven't been feeling so hot," Shane finally admits.

There’s sympathy on Spencer’s face when he says, "Suck. Ian's getting over some shit, too."

The luggage carousel hums and starts moving. They both shift to watch and Spencer's attention is distracted when he asks, "How long you been feeling bad?"

 _Six weeks_ , Shane nearly blurts out. It's not necessarily true, though. Most of that first week he felt fine; the lethargy and insomnia hadn't kicked in until the second week. He hadn't noticed it until the day he'd spent ten hours on the sofa, without the energy to care. It hadn't gotten any better over the last few weeks. Shane remembers getting Spencer's weird day text and wanting to laugh hysterically, only he hadn't had the energy.

The only thing that made him drag his happy ass off the couch today was the fact that Spencer was flying back into town.

An arm slips around his shoulder and Shane barely stops himself from wrapping himself around Spencer. He’s a little terrified he won’t let go. Smiling instead, he lets himself soak in Spencer’s presence. Just standing this close to Spencer is clearing the fog in his head. His limbs feel less heavy, too.

The entire thing is confusing as hell and Shane has no clue what the hell is going on.

"Shane?" He looked up to find Spencer staring at him, eyes concerned.

"What?"

Spencer grinned. "You really _are_ feeling pretty shitty, huh?"

Embarrassed about zoning out, Shane points over Spencer's shoulder. "There's your bag."

Spencer grabs the keys out of his hands and drives them home, and Shane falls asleep almost immediately in the car.

*

Shane reaches for the pan without thinking and it's only Spencer yelling at him, jerking his arm away, that keeps him from using his bare hand to pull the muffins out of the oven without an oven mitt.

"What the hell, Shane?" Spencer grabs a towel off the counter, pulling the pan out. It lands on the stove with a little bounce and Spencer tosses the towel back on the counter. Flipping the oven off, he turns to Shane. "What were you thinking?"

"I just." He shrugs. "Forgot?"

"You 'forgot' that shit in the oven is hot." Spencer looks dubious. Shane just shrugs again. It's kind of true. His head is still fuzzy and he'd just reached, not thinking. His body feels lighter this morning though and he'd finally slept the whole night through, wrapped around Spencer.

"Spence–"

He gets a hand, waving him away. Spencer puts his back to Shane. "Out, out. I'll make the eggs, okay? Don't want to make a trip to the hospital because you decided that your hand would make a better spatula."

"Asshole," Shane mutters. Spencer can be such a dick sometimes. It was an _accident_ , for Christ's sake.

He gets the finger over Spencer's shoulder and a discontented sound rumbles at the back of his throat before he can stop it.

Spencer jerks at the sound, head turning to the side. Shane can see his profile, the way his shoulders rise with tension, and beats a hasty retreat. He continues on to the bathroom, leaning back against the door once it's closed. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he murmurs a quiet, "Fuck."

"What the hell are you doing, Valdes?"

The reflection in the mirror looks tired. Dark circles and weary eyes stare back at him. He can't figure it out. It’s eerily similar to whatever the hell Spencer's been through, only Shane doesn't have the nightmares. His grip on the edge of the counter tightens and his bones _ache_ with the motion. No, instead he gets weak and so exhausted that it's hard to get out of bed.

Only Spencer doesn’t have the nightmares any more, not after Brendon bit him. Shane closes his eyes, the whole thing rolling around in his head, over and over. None of it makes _any fucking sense_. Shane can't figure out is what the hell Spencer has to do with it. He's _human_ , for crying out loud.

With a sigh, Shane looks down at his hands. He wishes his own parents were still alive, or even that Brendon's parents wouldn't refuse to discuss the issue at all. It's frustrating as hell not really knowing a god-damned thing.

And then there's the obvious tension between Brendon and Spencer. Shane has no idea what that's about either. Spencer refused to talk about anything last night, just pushed Shane into bed, wrapped his arms around him, and insisted they get some rest. Shane had been too tired to argue.

Spencer yells down the hallway, "Breakfast is ready!"

With another sigh, Shane leaves the bathroom. He's two steps away from the living room when he hears the beep of the answering machine.

 _I don't know what the hell's going on, Shane–_

It's Darren, his location scout. Fuck, he thought he'd erased that message already.

 _But this is the fourth time you’ve pushed this meeting back. I don't know how much longer I can keep these guys interested._

There's a pause and Shane steps into the living room. He can see Spencer frowning.

 _Just. Just talk to me, man. Call me when you get this._

A sigh and then the machine beeps again, signaling the end of the message.

He watches Spencer, waiting. Spencer doesn't move, just turns his head to look over at Shane. "What's going on?" The question is soft, but determined.

Shane goes for nonchalant. "I don't know what–" But Spencer turns fully toward him, arms crossed.

"Shane."

"I told you, I've been sick." He snaps, not quite looking Spencer in the eye. Within three steps, Spencer's in his face. Shane's heart rate picks up.

"But for how long? Darren said you postponed–" He waves a hand about. "Whatever, four times already. How long have you been sick?"

Before Shane can answer, he continues. "And why didn’t you answer my calls? And you sure as hell can't say you were busy because that's obviously not true."

"Fuck you, Spence." There's something zinging through his body now, his mind feels clear. He glares. "It's not like I owe you any answers."

Spencer crowds him up against the wall and Shane hasn't felt this good in _weeks_.

"Really?" Spencer asks through clenched teeth, the words quiet but hard. They breathe over Shane's lips and he's already tilting his head up when Spencer stills, head cocked to the side like he hears something. His brows pull together and Shane's about to ask what's wrong when Spencer says quietly, "Brendon's–"

The doorbell peals through the house.

"Here."

Shane looks up in surprise, watching as Spencer's face blanches a little. He stares back at Shane, eyes wide, anger and desire bleeding out to fear for a split second before his face smooths out. Stepping back, he says, "I'll go cook some more eggs, you should answer the door."

It takes another ring of the doorbell to snap Shane out it, breaking away from staring at Spencer's back as he walks away. He goes to answer the door and finds Brendon on the other side.

*

The air around the breakfast table is sullen and tense. Both Spencer and Brendon are picking at the food on their plates, but Shane's appetite, non-existent for the last few weeks, returns with fervor and he polishes off half a dozen biscuits once the eggs are gone. He's slathering on a ridiculous amount of strawberry jelly on his last one when he looks up and says, "Okay, what the hell is going on with you two?"

"Nothing," Brendon answers immediately. When Shane looks over, he's staring at Shane. Spencer snorts and Brendon's attention shifts and he glares at Spencer.

"Let it go," he hisses and Spencer throws his fork down. A second later, he picks up his plate and pushes back in his chair. It makes a squeal that has both Brendon and Shane wincing. Spencer sets the dish down none too gently in the sink, then turns around and leans against the counter.

"Okay," Shane drags the word out. The tension level in the room is through the roof. He can feel Brendon vibrating in his seat and Spencer's tense enough that even Shane wouldn't touch him right now. Sighing, he puts the rest of his biscuit back down. Despite the fact that he’s probably not recovered enough to deal with this, he forges ahead anyway.

"What happened on the tour, you guys? What's going on?" Neither one of them offers a word. Shane slumps back in his chair a little and looks at both of them. "I've got all day. Someone spill."

The muscle in Brendon's jaw jumps and he looks away, staring at a corner and resolutely not saying anything. Shane looks expectantly at Spencer. He watches Spencer's hands tighten on the counter before he starts to talk.

"If you bothered to pick up your fuckin' phone once in a while–"

"Not the point," Shane murmurs. Spencer eyes narrow and he looks like he wants to argue but doesn't contradict Shane.

"We were at this club after the show. Brendon was off–" a shoulder lifts, "doing whatever he usually does and this girl, this woman, sits down next to me at the bar."

Shane can tell where this is going. He can feel the tension in his own body, doesn't realize how tight his teeth are clenched until he feels a soft tap against his foot. Brendon's not looking at him, but it startles him enough that he can realize he was about two seconds away from growling his disapproval. It shakes him a little. He's beginning to wonder where all his control went.

"And then I swear Brendon fucking _growled_ at her, like a, a dog–" Shane barely keeps himself from looking at Brendon. "And she and her, I don't know, boyfriend or whatever the fuck he was, left. But then she told Brendon not to leave his 'property' unattended and fuck if I know for sure, but it sure as hell sounded like she was talking about me, like I belonged to Brendon or some shit."

Shane does look at Brendon now. His face is blank and he's holding himself so still as to be the modicum of calmness. If Shane couldn't see the way his pulse rabbits at the base of his throat, he’d be completely assured that Brendon _was_ calm.

Shane swallows. "She was probably just–"

"He's not finished," Brendon states quietly. Shane snaps his mouth closed, looking back at Spencer.

Spencer stares hard at Brendon, like he's trying to get answers out of him through sheer mind control. Brendon looks back, offering nothing. Spencer moves then, walking towards them. He leans over, placing his hands flat on the table, and says softly, "And then it got weird."

He recounts what happened after the club–about the woman and her circle of protection, Brendon growling for real and trying to take on five guys until the woman had seen the scar on Spencer’s hand, the way she'd mentioned territory and property and the word _Companion_ –until he ends with, "And Brendon won't tell me what any of it _means_."

Shane's head is spinning. That means that there are more of them, more than just Shane and Brendon. It's something he's thought to be true before, but this is proof. There's more of them and they _know_ shit. He can feel the excitement thrumming under his skin.

"Maybe Brendon doesn't _know_ what it means, Spence." From the corner of his eye, he can see Brendon's eyes drop to the hand Shane's put around Spencer's wrist.

"How can he not know–"

"Maybe you should ask Shane about it."

Shane looks at Brendon, startled.

"Shane?" Spencer barks out a short laugh. "What the hell would Shane know about this?"

"I don't know." There's a look on Brendon's face, one that Shane can't discern. He's so fucking confused now. What did _he_ do?

Brendon gets up suddenly. "I'm tired of this, I gotta go. Sarah's waiting on me."

Shane reaches out, a hand on his arm. "Brendon–"

For the first time he can remember, Brendon moves out of the way and Shane's hand drops. Even Spencer doesn't try to stop Brendon and a moment later, the sound of the door closing echoes through the house.

"What the fuck is going on?" Spencer sounds a little lost now, all the anger from earlier gone.

Shane shakes his head. He doesn't have a fucking clue either.

*

That night, Shane's nearly asleep before he remembers. Rolling onto his side, he mumbles, "How'dja know?"

"Know what?" Spencer's voice is quiet, but clear. Shane buries his face against Spencer's shoulder, breathing deep. He really likes the way Spencer smells; he missed it.

"That it was Brendon at the door? Earlier?"

Tension sings under his cheek for a split second and then disappears. "I heard the car door slam. Not very many people it could have been–" Shane shifts along with Spencer's shrug. "I took a guess."

Here's the thing, Shane's hearing is pretty damned good. Not supersonic or anything, but he would definitely hear something like the slam of a car door. Before he can say anything, Spencer pulls his arm out between them, wrapping it around Shane. He rolls in until Shane can feel the line of heat where their bodies line up. A breath ghosts over the top of his head.

It's a distraction technique, Shane knows, but the whispered _missed you_ makes him close his eyes and press closer. He falls asleep to the feel of a callused palm stroking along his shoulder and side.

Tomorrow, he can push the issue tomorrow.

>><<

Spencer's watching Shane pace back and forth across the living room, cell phone to his ear as he argues with whomever is on the other end. His voice is getting snappy, his free hand rubbing across his stomach. Contemplating ordering a couple of pizzas–Shane's blood sugar is obviously getting low–Spencer's startled when his own phone rings. Sarah's name pops up on the screen and he hesitates.

Shane kicks his toe, still talking, but mouthing _answer it_ when Spencer glances up. Rolling his eyes, Spencer unlocks his phone.

"Hey, Sarah O, how's it shakin'?"

 _I'm going to kill your singer, Smith. Please make him be a rational human being again._

Spencer frowns. He and Brendon haven't said more than five words to each other in the last week, still in some kind of stand-off about that particular night on tour. It's getting ridiculous and Spencer's beginning to think he overreacted. Brendon hasn't been this mad since right before they'd signed up for the Blink tour, and Spencer kind of misses him.

"What's going on?"

 _I have no clue. This morning when I suggested he call you, I swear to god he actually growled at me._

Slumping back, Spencer runs a hand over his face. His beard's getting a little unruly and he tugs at it. A hand wraps around his wrist, pulling it away, and Shane sits down next to him. Without thinking, Spencer slides his fingers through Shane's.

"I'm not sure he's going to talk to me either, Sarah."

 _Not what I want to hear, Spencer Smith. You are the fixer, okay? And look, I don't know what the hell happened between the two of you; I'm not sure I even care anymore, but Brendon isn't sleeping. He's barely eating._ She pauses and Spencer can hear the tiredness in her voice, the worried edge, when she continues. _You know how stubborn he is, and he won't talk to me. I need you to fix this. Please._

He glances over to see Shane staring down at their joined hands, a small smile soft on his lips.

"Fine."

Shane looks up. His hair's a mess, desperately in need of a haircut, and yeah, Spencer thinks, it's time to get all this shit settled.

"Fine," he repeats. "But don't expect any miracles."

 _I happen to know you are certified in performing miracles, Spence._ She tells him she's leaving in a couple of hours, heading out of state to visit some friends, and gives him a quiet _thanks_ before she hangs up.

Spencer drops his hand into his lap and sighs loudly.

"What's up?" Shane asks.

"Apparently Brendon is being a holy terror and Sarah wants me to fix it. She says he's not really sleeping or eating." Something shifts through Shane's eyes, but Spencer can't discern what it is. "And he's still pissed at me."

"Which is fair," Shane offers quietly. "You _were_ kind of a dick."

Sighing, Spencer mumbles, "I know."

"And pushy, definitely pushy."

"Fuck, Shane," Spencer glares. "I _know_."

"Plus, you hate fighting with Brendon."

Spencer slumps sideways, nose half-buried in Shane's neck, and says softly, "Yeah."

He squeezes his fingers and Shane runs his thumb back and forth in a soothing manner. Turning in a little more, Spencer places his other hand on Shane's thigh, high up. His fingers stroke the inner seam and he listens to Shane's breath catch.

"Not tonight, though."

It's more of a statement, really, than a question and Spencer shakes his head. Sliding his mouth over the skin right under Shane's ear gets him another stuttered breath, and he offers a quiet, "No, not tonight."

*

Spencer wakes up, albeit reluctantly, shoving his face down into his pillow. His body is loose, arms and shoulders just this side of sore, and Spencer grins. Twisting his head to the side, he looks over at the other side of the bed. The sheets are tossed back, an empty space next to him.

Frowning, he pushes up on his elbows. There's no ambient noise from the apartment and finally Spencer rolls out of bed. He pulls on some jeans and wanders out into the house. Shane's gone but there’s a hastily scribbled note on the kitchen counter.

 _meeting this morning, sorry._ There's a space, like Shane finished but then decided to write something else. _last night was–_ There’s something scribbled out and Spencer imagines Shane standing here, blushing and trying to find the right word. Last night had been– _awesome_.

Laughing out loud, Spencer mumbles, "Dork." He shoves the note in his pocket.

The clock on the wall reads 8:27 and even though it's early, he knows that Brendon's probably awake. Now or never, Spencer thinks. It's never a good time to argue with Brendon, but they really do need to clear this shit up. He hates fighting with Brendon. He'd kept pushing, knowing that Brendon was telling the truth, but it was all so weird that Spencer freaked out. An apology on his side is definitely in order, and if he can get Brendon to tell him why _he_ was so freaked out about the incident, that'll be a bonus.

The shirt he was wearing yesterday is gone, so he picks up Shane's. Turnabout is fair play and it smells like Shane. Grabbing his wallet and keys, Spencer heads out the door.

*

Shane's car is in the driveway when Spencer pulls up. With a frown, he gets out and makes his way up the sidewalk. His hand is raised to knock when he hears voices; they don't sound very pleasant. A vague sense of unease runs down Spencer's spine, tension settling in his stomach. He's close enough to feel Brendon and there’s a lot of tension, anger and fear swirling around. Something else is mixed in, but Spencer can’t quite decipher it. It's still so unsettling to feel these things and know that they're _Brendon's_ feelings.

Suddenly, Spencer's not really sure he wants to go in the house. Just then a spike of anger hits him in the chest and he turns the doorknob without a thought. He's halfway down the hall before he catches what's being said.

"Tell me what happened again–" Shane’s voice is low, soothing. Brendon’s is not.

"How come you didn't tell me about the scar? What the hell happened when I bit Spencer?"

"I didn't know about this, any of it. Okay? It's not like I have a fucking handbook, Brendon. My parents never told me a damn thing before they died, so I'm just as much in the dark as you are."

"It's just that she was all over him, like there was something _about_ him, something different."

At that, Spencer stops moving.

"And the guy that was with her, fuck, he looked like he was ready to jump right into the mix, like he wanted to eat Spencer. And I don't know, I just–I walked up and all of a sudden it was like Spencer was _mine_. And I know I overreacted, but it was just that, a reaction. I knew what they were and that they wanted something that was _mine_. I don't know what's happening, Shane. Spencer smells different now–"

That’s a new one for Spencer.

"And I've been trying to avoid it, but it's not working. There’s something else about him now, too. I hate not knowing what the hell’s going on!"

Spencer can hear them moving around then Brendon says sharply, "Don't touch me."

"What the hell, Brendon?"

There's confusion in Shane's voice, but underneath Spencer can hear the hurt and he flashes back to the scene in the kitchen. Brendon had pulled away then, too. There’s a spike of guilt that rolls through Spencer; Brendon hates that he’s pushing Shane away.

"You smell like Spencer," Brendon responds. Spencer can hear a muttered _fuck_ , heat swirling around the guilt. Shane must try to touch Brendon again because a second later, something wild and terrifying twists inside of Spencer's stomach. He steps closer and he sees it as Shane reaches out another time, tries to put a hand around Brendon's neck, saying in a soft, soothing voice, "Calm down, Bren. Just breathe."

Brendon lashes out though, growling roughly and shoving Shane's arm away. Spencer's chest _hurts_.

In a split second, that something wild and terrifying quits twisting around Spencer’s stomach and rips right through him. One moment he's watching Brendon standing there and then the next, a shaggy, dark-coated wolf is in his place.

Spencer's legs give out and he lands hard on the floor. The noise startles Shane and Brendon. It's almost comical the way both their heads swing in his direction. Shane's eyes widen and Spencer's name slips, startled, past his lips.

It's hard to breathe.

Every single breath feels like it's being ripped out of his chest and it’s only when the wolf– _Brendon_ –takes a couple steps forward that Spencer realizes that it's not just him, Brendon's emotions are bleeding all over the place. There’s a wash of fear, confusion and anger, and something else Spencer can't quite define.

It's not until Shane says his name again and his gaze snaps up that Spencer realizes that he was staring. Shane puts a hand on the wolf's neck and some of the tension eases out Spencer's chest. Frowning, Spencer tries to say something, anything, but he doesn't know what to say. Something rolls through Shane's eyes and Spencer's breath stops.

He mouths the words _you_ but no sound escapes. Shane tilts his head, guilt flashing across his face.

The wolf moves forward, out from under Shane's hand, toward Spencer. He scrambles back. It's too much. Too much to process, too much to understand. Spencer struggles to get up, shaking his head and backing away. The wolf keeps coming, even after Shane calls Brendon’s name, telling him to stop.

Hearing Shane call the wolf by Brendon’s name breaks something inside Spencer, and he finally scrambles up. Shane shouts after him.

Somehow or another he gets the keys in the lock and then into the ignition. Before he hits the gas, he glances back at the house. Shane's in the doorway, struggling to hold–Brendon, _fuck_ –back. Even from the car, Spencer can read the sadness on Shane's face, but it's the emotions swirling around in his chest, all that angerfearwhatever that makes him hit the gas pedal.

*

He's on the outskirts of San Diego when he finally comes out of the fog in his head. It takes him a moment to realize it and he barks out a laugh when he recognizes his surroundings. His body had automatically taken him towards the one person who always fixes everything. He lets out another laugh, sharper this time.

He's pretty sure Zack doesn't have a fucking clue how to fix _this_.

Spencer has to stop himself from laughing. He's afraid it might get hysterical. Instead he stops for gas.

Noon traffic slows everything down, not that Spencer trying to get anywhere in a hurry. He heads east, taking I-8 out of the city. He ignores the cell phone on the seat next to him. It's on silent anyway, has been since it started ringing almost immediately after he'd left the house. Every so often, when there's a break in the music on the radio, he can hear the vibration from another call.

It's nearly six when he finally stops for the night, and when the sun sets, the lights of Phoenix brighten the sky in the distance. He picks at the dinner he orders and finally leaves, dropping a twenty on the table and most of the food still on his plate.

The Holiday Inn he checks into reminds him of one of the first times they started getting hotel nights. He pulls out his phone, turning it over and over, and contemplates calling Ryan. They haven't spoken in months, only a handful of times since the split. Since they both wanted different things and Spencer was tired of being the one to take care of everything, to make sure everyone was happy. He laughs hoarsely.

He finally looks down at his phone. There's twenty-eight missed calls and even more text messages. Spencer puts the phone on the nightstand and goes to stand under the shower for a very long time, long after the water runs cold.

That first night is spent staring sightlessly at whatever comes up on the TV, his mind wandering around and around in circles. The phone finally stops buzzing around midnight and Spencer falls into a restless sleep somewhere between three and four in the morning.

The knock on the door startles him awake and he sits straight up. It takes a minute and a female voice outside the door saying housekeeping loudly before Spencer remembers where the hell he's at. The empty ache in his chest starts almost immediately. There's another knock while he sits there, rubbing his hand over his chest. There's a turn of the key and he looks up, meeting the startled eyes of an older lady, dressed in green uniform dress. It's kind of hideous, Spencer notes vaguely. She backs out with a quick apology and Spencer looks over at the nightstand; it's nearly noon. Check-out was an hour ago.

Spencer lies back down and doesn't move until the hotel phone rings.

Another four hours of that vague almost-asleep-but-not-quite state, Spencer finally rolls out of bed. He hits a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Mexican food place and actually clears his plate. The teenager who waits on him is wearing an old-school Blink t-shirt under his white button-up, and Spencer leaves a twenty dollar tip then walks out into the evening. The air is warm, but he can tell it's going to cool off fast. There's a park down the road and Spencer wanders over, sitting down on a dilapidated bench.

The next time he looks at his watch, he can barely see it. A second later the street lights flicker on, the buzz from warming up loud in the evening air.

He spends the evening similar to the one before. When he picks up his phone, left on the nightstand since he'd arrived, the screen doesn't come on and he realizes that the battery is dead. He contemplates going to buy a charger since he doesn't have one with him, but chooses to put the phone back on the table instead and go take another shower.

*

Spencer wakes on a gasp, the dark shadows fading away to the ones in the corners of his hotel room.

*

Traffic is light at four in the morning and the temptation to speed is there, but Spencer figures he's got nowhere to be fast and sets the cruise at the speed limit. The few cars that are one the road fly past him. He's got the window down and the rushing air is almost soothing. His hair is getting long though, it keeps flying into his eyes.

  
The southern part of New Mexico is not pretty, Spencer thinks. Las Cruces stretches out a fair way and Spencer's contemplating stopping when he sees the sign for the White Sands National Monument. History lessons float around in his head and he stops for gas before moving on.

It's a little after nine when he sees the turn off. There's only one other vehicle in the parking lot of the visitors center, a National Parks decal emblazoned on the side. He follows the trail signs and digs out three bucks at the entry station. He drives down a bit, staring. He parks and stumbles up a small dune until he can see. It's almost too bright, even with the sun only halfway up in the sky. White is all he can see for miles, tall, dark hills in the background.

He sits down and doesn't move for a very long time.

*

Spencer spends the night in a little town called Tularosa, at a made-for-TV motel that makes him miss Shane so much that he nearly gets back in the car and keeps driving. But sitting in the sun for most of the day, doing his best to think of absolutely nothing, was tiring and he wants to lay down for a while.

There must be something on his face because without asking, the hotel clerk puts him on the opposite of the building from the lone car in the parking lot. The hot water in this motel lasts a little longer than the previous one. It's only after he's standing in the middle of his room in nothing but a towel does Spencer realize he hasn't changed clothes in a couple of days. When he heads up the mountain in the morning, he'll have to pick something up, but for now he just keeps the towel on.

He's afraid to actually sleep, so most of the night is spent tossing and turning, a struggle to not let his eyes slip shut. Exhaustion eventually overtakes him and he wakes a few hours later, early morning light trying to make its way through the blinds. His hands are clenched so tightly in his blanket that his fingers ache when he lets go.

Once dressed, he wanders outside. It's a little lighter now and Spencer watches the sun rise over the foothills behind the motel. It's breathtaking; Shane would love it. So would Brendon, he knows. Once the sun breaks over, Spencer rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes then goes to check out.

*

Spencer drives.

He drives and drives and drives, stopping once for a couple pair of jeans. He picks up a new t-shirt each time he gets gas. He'll get out of the car, fill her up, get back in, and continue driving. He keeps forgetting to buy a phone charger.

It's only when he has to flip the visor down that Spencer realizes he's headed back west again. At least he knows where he’s headed now.

Three and half hours later, he hits the outskirts of Vegas.

  
[Part Four](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14902.html)


	5. a thin line between - part four

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic band: p!atd](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20band%3A%20p%21atd), [fic challenge: werewolfbigbang](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20challenge%3A%20werewolfbigbang), [fic pairing: shane/spencer](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%20pairing%3A%20shane%2Fspencer)  
  
---|---  
  
_**a thin line between - part four**_  
[Master Post](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13906.html) | [Part One](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14092.html) | [Part Two](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14544.html) | [Part Three](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/14674.html) | Part Four | [Fanmix](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13603.html)

  
_Brendon loves Sarah._

He loves her for her sense of humor, for the fact that she can beat him at miniature golf. He loves her for the fact that she loves him unconditionally. She takes the manic days where he can't seem to slow himself down. She takes the nights he doesn't come to bed until the sun's nearly up. He loves that she'll wake him on mornings when the surf is supposed to be fantastic and the she's already called Spencer to 'come get his sorry ass, so get out of bed already'.

Sarah is the closest thing to perfect that Brendon's ever known. She loves him for the person he is. And Brendon loves her, he does, more than any other girl he's known. But he's never told her about what he is, what he carries inside himself. So there's always something he's holding back, that little bit of himself that he can't quite seem to give away. So Brendon loves Sarah, but he's afraid it will never be enough. Not for him and definitely not for her.

She deserves a whole heart, but Brendon is selfish and will take whatever time she's willing to give him.

~*~

The sun is setting and from his vantage point down the street, Spencer watches the lights come on in the Urie household. His cell phone is in his hands and he stops himself from hitting the power button again. It's dead, but he's pressed it half a dozen times since he pulled over. He wants to get out and walk down there, ring the doorbell and demand–he doesn't know, really–answers? They don't know anything, or if they do, they'd decided long ago not to give them to Brendon.

Spencer remembers those days, the circles under Brendon's eyes, the way his shoulders would fall when he was sure nobody was watching. During that time, Spencer had constantly stopped himself from yelling at Brendon's parents. They had this amazing, talented son, and couldn't see the forest for their damn religious trees.

Knowing what he knows now, it puts a whole new spin on everything.

The anger is still there, he notes with surprise. It's tempered now, but still. They're _parents_ , they're supposed to love _without condition_.

Thinking about parents makes Spencer's mind wander to his own. He's lucky, he knows that, but obviously there's something different about him, too. That lady in Seattle knew it. Brendon knows it. The thing that keeps running around his head, other than the fact that Brendon and Shane turn into fucking _wolves_ , is whether or not it was something that was already inside him or whether that bite from Brendon is the cause.

He looks down. In the fading light, the scar is hard to see, but the skin is smooth when he runs a finger over it.

The shout of a small child startles him and he looks up to find the Urie's have visitors. It looks like Kara. Spencer watches as her youngest runs up the walkway. Spencer can't remember her name, but he knows Brendon has a picture of her in his wallet. It takes tiptoes but she reaches the doorbell and a second later Grace opens the door.

There's another irrational flash of anger. Things are better now between Brendon and his parents, but he's always the one to initiate contact, to call on birthdays. It's not fair. Spencer runs a hand over his face. He should be mad at Brendon, not sitting here thinking that he'd still like to go pound on that door and demand to know what the hell they were thinking.

He _should_ be mad at Brendon and he is, definitely, but somewhere along the long hours on the road, he's had enough time to process why Brendon and Shane would choose to keep something like that from him, from the world in general. He's got a million questions, but he’s not quite ready to face them quite yet.

*

His mom is going to kill him if she finds out that he was home and didn't come to visit, but he's not up to seeing them. She's his mother and entirely too good at knowing when something is wrong and then making him talk about it. He doesn't think _Well, Brendon bit me and it turns out he turns into a wolf sometimes and now I can feel his emotions when he's close enough. I'm also involved in a pseudo-relationship with the only other person who knows about Brendon. Oh yeah, he also happens to turn into a wolf occasionally._

Spencer laughs at the thought, the sound a little bitter. There's an unopened phone charger on the bed next to him. He tosses his cell down next to it, picks up the hotel phone and orders a pizza.

The hotel is close to the North Las Vegas Airport, the sound of the casino and planes drowning out a lot of the white noise in Spencer's head. He doesn't want to think about the fact that hopefully it'll cover any screams as well. The nightmares are closer; it's like he can feel them running underneath his skin, ready to claw their way out.

He spends more than a couple of hours down in the casino, hits a small jackpot and loses it an hour later. There's a lady standing near him and she puts a hand on his arm, smiling up at him. For a split second, Spencer's terrified that she's one of them, but she just gives him a sympathetic glance, murmurs _better luck next time_ and moves away.

Spencer sucks in a breath and goes back to the room. He stands under the shower until he stops shaking.

He orders a ridiculously expensive pint of Jack Daniels and proceeds to get thoroughly trashed. When the nightmares wake him up later, he rolls over the side of the bed and barely makes it to the bathroom in time to puke.

*

The charger remains in the package and the only thing that makes the next night different is that Spencer orders tequila instead. He doesn't puke this time, but the headache is twice as bad.

*

By the third night, he's sleeping in fits of forty to fifty minutes.

He finally opens the phone charger.

*

Spencer's lying on his hotel bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He's in the middle of an inane thought about needing to towel-dry his hair more after he gets out of the shower when his phone beeps. He turns his head and looks over it. After a moment, he reaches over and picks it up, pulling the charge cord out and hitting the power button. It takes a moment but the screen finally lights up. The missed call pop-up box blinks into view.

 _36 Missed Calls_. Below that it reads _92 Messages_.

He scrolls through the missed calls list. Unsurprisingly, most of them are from the first couple of days. Pete's number shows up the day before and then all of a sudden there’s Ryan’s number. Spencer can feel his eyebrows rise. He thinks about listening to the messages, but doesn’t really want to hear their voices right now.

Instead, he looks at the text messages. It's a similar pattern, a majority of the texts coming in on the first few days and tapering off in the last day or so.

 _Please pick up your phone_

I can explain

Answer your phone dammit

A couple days in, the tone changes. Brendon has never been good with being ignored.

 _Fucking answer your phone dick_

You need to come home

At least call Shane, he needs you

That one makes Spencer pause. It's followed by Brendon's last text, sent nearly 18 hours ago.

 _fuck you come home_

The last text in his phone is from Ryan. _I don't know what happened, but if Brendon is calling me then you should probably answer your phone_

He's got Ryan's number keyed in with his finger hovering over the call button before he knows it. He doesn't hit the button though, slumping back against the headboard and dropping his hands down into his lap instead. Something's bothering him and it's not until he pulls up the message list again that he figures it out.

There are no messages from Shane.

The missed called log only shows one, the very first missed call. Spencer hits the voicemail and lifts the phone to his ear.

 _So, um. That happened._ Something twists in Spencer's stomach at the sound of Shane's voice. It's kind of stupid, but Spencer realizes in that instant that maybe he hasn't just been fooling around with Shane, that's it's more than having a good time. Fuck. _I don't really know, uh, what to say. I'm sorry, I guess? You shouldn't have had to find out like that. We should have told you. Definitely should have told you a long time ago, but hey–_ there's a little self-deprecating laugh, twisted _–I'm not really sure how you go about telling your boyf-ah,your friend–friends–that you can turn into an animal, right? Anyway._ The phone hits something and Spencer can hear Shane sigh, picture him running his hand over his face. _I know you're–You're probably a little freaked out–_ There’s a sharp bark in the background. _Okay, a lot freaked out right now, but–_ Shane's voice catches and Spencer swallows hard. _Please be careful and call me–call us–when you can._

The automated voice comes on and Spencer hits end before it gets very far.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

All of sudden Spencer can't breathe, doubling over gasping for air as it really hits him.

He's spent the last week not thinking about, not _really_ , and it's all coming with a vengeance now, flashing over and over. The woman outside the club, that morning in the kitchen with Shane, Brendon's teeth tearing through his hand, dark corners and terrifying shadows of dreams, the form of a wolf stepping closer as he's sprawled on the floor, Shane's startled face.

The way he'd looked standing on the front porch as Spencer left.

Spencer slides to the floor, back against the side of the bed. He tucks his face into his knees and tries to breathe.

*

"Spence?"

Brendon's voice is tentative, a little wariness tempered with anger, and Spencer nearly hangs up right then. Instead, he clears his throat and mumbles, "Yeah." Clearing his throat again, he says more strongly, "Yeah, it's me."

Spencer swears he can hear Brendon murmur _thank god_ under his breath but it's a second later before he asks, "Where are you?"

Spencer hesitates, but finally answers. "Vegas."

"Oh. I thought. Well, that's not surprising, I guess–"

Spencer interrupts Brendon's rambling, asking without thinking, "What are you?"

"Well, I thought that would be obvious, Spencer. " Brendon’s voice is sharp, brittle. "Freak of nature? There's always the ever-popular 'werewolf'."

"I can hang up right now, Brendon, so don't. Just–Don't."

"Fuck you. You left, ran away without telling anyone–"

"You _fucking_ turned into a _wolf_ , Brendon. What the fuck else was I supposed to do!" Spencer shouts.

"Fine. Fine, whatever. You just. You need to come ho–back. You need to come back as soon as you can." There's an undercurrent of urgency, of need, in Brendon's voice that cuts through Spencer's anger.

"Why? What's wrong?"

Brendon seems hesitant to answer, but finally says, "Shane, uh. Shane could use you–"

Spencer's stomach turns. "Why?" he interrupts. "What's happened?" Brendon doesn't answer and his voice is low and tight when Spencer demands, "Fucking hell, Brendon, tell me what's wrong with Shane."

The anger's returned to Brendon's voice when he finally responds. "I guess you should come home and find out for yourself."

The line goes dead right after that and Spencer throws his phone viciously against the wall with a loud, " _Fuck_."

*

Amazingly enough, the phone still works. The screen has a spider web of cracks that make it nearly impossible to read, but Spencer picks it up and shoves it in his pocket. He grabs the duffel bag that he'd picked up along the way, shoves the few items of clothing he has into it, and looks around.

The empty bottles of booze are still sitting on the table; one bed is pristine while the other is a tangle of sheets, blankets and pillows. He's been refusing the housekeeping service and the room smells musty and booze-tinged, a hint of desperation hanging in the air. He looks around one last time and in his head he hears Brendon and the way his voice sounded on Shane's name.

He turns and walks out without a second glance.

*

After he pulls into Brendon's driveway, he sits there, staring down at his hands on the wheel. He's pretty sure that if he takes them off, they'll be shaking too bad to be useful. When Spencer finally looks up, it's to find Brendon standing in the doorway, watching him. The look on his face is blank, something that Spencer hates because it usually means that Brendon's scared of something.

Spencer realizes suddenly that Brendon probably _is_ scared to death, scared of how Spencer will react, about what will happen when he gets out of the car. That Brendon is scared of _him_ is so very wrong to Spencer, and it's too ingrained in him after all these years to let that go. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Spencer takes a deep breath and then gets out of the car.

As he gets closer, Spencer can see how tired Brendon looks. Stopping, they stare at each other, until Spencer asks quietly, "Are you going to let me in?"

A muscle in Brendon's jaw jumps and he turns a shoulder. He doesn't really move though, forcing Spencer to slide by him in order to get into the house. His body is taut as a wire as Spencer moves past him, so close that Spencer watches eyelashes shield the look in Brendon's eyes when he drops his gaze. Spencer refuses to give an inch, moving past Brendon and toward the living room.

Shane's slumped back against the couch, eyes shut, chest rising slow and steady when Spencer enters. He clears his throat and Shane's eyes snap open. Something sparks across his face when he catches sight of Spencer, but it's wiped away almost immediately. Spencer feels stupid; he's obviously not the only one that's in this for something more than just fooling around. That's when he notices that Shane looks like absolute shit, looks like Spencer feels.

He makes a beeline for the couch, sitting down as Brendon comes into the room. He reaches out to touch Shane, but hesitates. Hurt flashes across Shane's face and Spencer swallows hard. Turning to Brendon, he demands, "What wrong with him?"

Brendon glares, snapping a sarcastic, "Fine, Brendon, how are you? I’m great–"

"Fuck you," Spencer snarls, halfway off the couch.

Shane puts a hand on his arm, his voice is raspy and low when he says, "Stop it."

Spencer watches guilt flash across Brendon's face before Spencer turns back to Shane. The palm of Shane's hand is cool across the skin of his arm, too cool. Spencer feels helpless and confused, almost to an alarming level, and that's when he realizes that it's not only his feelings. _Brendon's_ scared. Under all the anger at Spencer, Brendon's emotions are twisting inside him, around and around, mixing with Spencer's, until it’s all Spencer can feel.

He looks back to the other side of the room and breathes out Brendon's name. Whatever is on Spencer's face makes Brendon's facade crumble. His mouth twists and fear floods into his eyes.

"I don't _know_ ," he babbles. "God knows I’m sick of saying that, but I don't know what's wrong."

Brendon starts pacing the short distance of the living room, glancing over at the two of them on the couch. "Everything was fine-" He laughs sharply. "Well, not _fine_ obviously, but nothing was wrong with him. Not the first day, but the second–"

Looking over at the couch, Spencer watches Brendon’s gaze drop and he looks down himself. His fingers are intertwined with Shane's; he doesn't remember doing it, but he tightens his grip and Shane squeezes back a second later. He looks back up, but Brendon's back to pacing.

"The second day?" He prompts.

Brendon jumps, like Spencer's startled him. Nodding, he continues. "The second day he was just really, really restless. I had to practically drag him off the couch. After that he got weaker, more restless." He looks at Shane, eyes wide, and says so softly Spencer almost doesn't hear, "I could barely wake him up today."

Even if Spencer couldn’t hear the fear and helplessness in his voice, there's enough of it whirling around his chest that he would have known regardless. Shane twitches like he wants to get up and Spencer tightens his grip until Shane makes a small, pained sound. Loosening his grip, Spencer looks over at him.

"This is what happened on tour, isn't it? While we were gone, this is why you looked so sick when we got back." Shane doesn't say anything, just bites his lip as he holds Spencer’s gaze.

Spencer's demanding, "Right?" overlaps with Brendon's startled, "What?"

Shane's definitely not looking at either of them now.

"Is that true?" Brendon asks, stepping toward the couch.

"Yeah," Shane finally answers. He keeps his chin down as he continues. "It didn't happen nearly so fast that time though. I thought I was just getting sick, so I started drinking more orange juice. But it only got worse."

Spencer watches as Shane looks down at their hands. "But you guys came back, Spencer came back and a few days later, it was like that never happened."

Something surges through Brendon and Spencer feels it like a jolt in his chest. He glances over, but Brendon's face is blank.

In the ensuing silence, Spencer finally offers softly, "My nightmares started the second night I was, um, gone."

"I wondered." Shane gives him a small, comforting smile. Spencer can't stop from returning it.

"Nightmares?"

They both turn to look at Brendon. He looks back and forth between the two of them. "What nightmares?"

Spencer sighs heavily and then explains.

*

"Me?" Brendon says, incredulous, when Shane points out that Spencer only has the nightmares when Brendon's not around for an extended period of time.

"But that makes no sense. We're not–We aren’t." He gestures back and forth between Spencer and Shane. He's sitting on the living room table, having collapsed there somewhere in the middle of Spencer's explanation. "You know."

"How could _I_ be the cause of Spencer's nightmares?"

Spencer shrugs and does his best to ignore the spike of some undetermined feeling that he gets. Brendon's emotions are all over the place and it's really starting to wear on him, already exhausted with the last few days.

"They started when you went on vacation and again when you moved out of the house."

Brendon leans forward, frowning. "You never said anything about this. I didn't know–"

"Of course not, Bren." Spencer grimaces. "It's not like I'm blaming you for this. I never told you, even though Shane wanted me to. But you were happy. You and Sarah–"

Brendon's eyes flicker at the mention of Sarah, but before Spencer can continue Shane interjects a quiet, "They stopped."

They both look at him and Shane says, "They stopped after you–After Brendon bit you."

Spencer jerks, startled. He thinks back and Shane's right, for the most part. "Until this week."

"Distance." Shane shrugs. "Time. You haven't been that far apart, not really, even since the tour ended."

"But it all still makes no sense." Brendon repeats voice confused. "Spencer's not a–He's not one of us, why would he be affected by any of this?"

Nobody has an answer for that question.

*

Brendon wanders away into the kitchen, Spencer's eyes following him, and Shane leans into his side and asks in a quiet voice, "You okay? You keep rubbing your chest."

Spencer drops his hand. "Nah, I'm fine." He sends a soft smile to Shane. "How about you?"

"Missed you," Shane mumbles, face coloring a little. He shifts, leaning into Spencer's side and ducking his chin. It makes Spencer grin and he dips his head down, brushing his mouth over Shane's.

"Missed you, too," he whispers. He leans in again, the kiss a little harder, more definite. Shane's mouth opens under his easily and Spencer's sliding his free hand into the soft curls at Shane's nape when he gasps, breaking the kiss. Shane drops his head to Spencer's shoulder and Spencer looks over at Brendon. He's standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching.

Spencer's chest feels tight, and he tips his head, studying Brendon. A moment later, everything blanks out, like Brendon's shut off all his emotions. Spencer frowns at that, but Brendon just moves into room and hands him one of the beers in his hand.

"So what now?" Shane asks as Brendon sits back down in front of them. A giant yawn distorts the end of the questions and Spencer and Brendon look at each other, answering simultaneously, " _Sleep_."

No one makes a move to get up. Finally Brendon says, "You guys take the bed, okay?"

"Brendon–" Spencer starts, but gets waved off.

"I think it's best if we stick around each other. At least until–" He looks over Shane and finishes quietly, "Until Shane feels better, yeah?"

Spencer watches as the two of them have some sort of silent conversation, until he finally prompts, "Shane?"

There's movement against his shoulder that he takes for affirmation and after a moment, they all stand. Shane stumbles a little and they both reach for him. Brendon laughs, a little embarrassed, and pulls back. He runs a hand over the back of his neck. "Right."

*

Brendon hovers around the door to his room, watching them settle and asking if there's anything they need. Anxiety flutters through Spencer's chest until he finally blurts out, "Christ, Urie, just get in bed!"

He can feel Shane shaking with laughter against his shoulder and Brendon's stuttering through apologies when Shane sits up and says quietly, "Come on."

"Are you sure?" Brendon's face is red as he leans back against the door frame.

"It's not like you weren't doing it while I was gone," Spencer adds.

Brendon looks at him, searching Spencer's face. He finally nods. "Yeah, maybe just for tonight."

*

In the dark, Spencer doesn't need the thing in his chest to tell him that Brendon's tense; he can feel it from across the bed. Finally, Shane rolls over and moves his head close to Brendon's. There's a low murmur of voices, words that Spencer can't quite make out, but a few minutes later, Brendon lets out a deep breath and goes loose.

Shane runs a hand over Brendon's arm, from his shoulder to his fingertips, and Spencer manages to control the shiver that runs through him. Brendon dampens it immediately and Spencer can feel his gaze shift over Shane's shoulder, toward him. It's too dark in the room for Spencer to see clearly, but he's fairly certain both Brendon and Shane's vision is better than his right now.

He puts a hand on Shane's back, down low, and Shane leans into it. Sliding it around, he curls around Shane and presses his face into the back of Shane's neck. He can feel the warmth from Brendon's body across the back of his hand.

"No hanky-panky in my bed, guys. Especially when I'm in it." Brendon's laugh is a little stilted. Spencer can feel the laxness in Shane's body, knows he's on the edge of sleep. It also shows in the slur of his words when Shane mumbles, "Whatever, B. I know you like to watch."

Brendon scoffs but Shane's already drifted off. The two of them lay there in the darkness for a while until Spencer's almost got a headache from how tightly Brendon's reining everything in. He jerks, startled, when Spencer finally says in a quiet voice, "Go to sleep, Brendon." He can feel the pillow move as Brendon nods his head.

"Okay," Brendon whispers. "Okay."

He's still not asleep when Spencer finally succumbs to sleep himself.

*

He's in that half-awake/half-asleep state, ominous shadows creeping in at the edges of his mind, when he feels the bed shift. Somewhere in his subconscious he waits, but that body doesn't return and Spencer eventually tumbles back into blackness.

*

There are horrible things tearing at him, clawing and ripping, and Spencer can't get away. He knows it's a dream, but he can't make his mind believe it. Shane appears in front of him and the shadows start for him. Spencer shouts, but Shane doesn't move. In the real darkness of their room, Shane sleeps on undisturbed, exhaustion from the last few days rendering him practically dead to the world. Spencer knows this in his subconscious, knowsknowsknows Shane's okay. He flails out anyway.

"Shhh," a voice soothes. "You're okay, it's not real." Fingertips brush across his forehead, cool and comforting. "C'mon Spence."

Brendon's voice is quiet in the dark, but Spencer swears it washes over him, around him. His body recognizes comfort, clarity, _protection_ , and he reaches for it. The bed dips behind him with a new weight, and then there's a body at his back. Spencer struggles for consciousness, but warmth surrounds him on both sides and he blinks back into sleep, the darkness kept at bay.

  
>><<

Shane watches the two of them over the top of his coffee cup. Nobody's talking about the way they woke up, opposite sides of Spencer, wrapped around him. Brendon had stumbled out of bed, looking away from Shane's stare. Distracted by Spencer waking, groaning into the pillow and shifting closer to Shane, Brendon made an escape.

There's a sliver of weariness that still clings to Shane, but he feels a million times better already. He watches Spencer scrambling eggs and knows that the same hold true for him. He waits until they're all at the table, forks in hand and breakfast in front of them, before he says, "I think we need to go back to Seattle."

Spencer's head snaps toward Brendon and he rubs at his chest, the way he'd kept doing last night. Brendon pretends he doesn't notice, looking at Shane and asking, "You think that's a good idea?"

Spencer finally turns his attention away from Brendon, waiting for Shane to respond. He smiles and Shane can't help returning it. He's pretty sure he looks silly. It's confirmed a moment later when Brendon snorts. "Dorks."

"Shut it, Urie," Spencer says, reaching over to steal a sausage link from Brendon's plate. Brendon's startled, "Hey!" gives Shane enough time to reach over and steal the other one.

"Assholes," he grumbles, pouting. A moment later, Spencer sighs and gives it back. Brendon beams and looks at Shane. Shane takes a huge bite and then offers his fork. Brendon grimaces at him and Shane grins, eating the other half. He's definitely feeling better.

When they've finished, Shane picks the plates up and puts them in the dishwasher. He turns around, leaning back against the counter. It’s a familiar tableau.

"Seriously, I think we should go back to Seattle. See if we can find that woman and her–" He hesitates to say it. "Pack." Brendon grimaces and Shane watches the tension creep back into his shoulders. He watches as Spencer reaches out almost immediately, a hand on the back of Brendon's neck. The tension eases and Shane files that away for another time, another discussion.

"Okay," Brendon finally shrugs. Spencer frowns at him, but eventually looks over to Shane and nods.

"It's worth a shot."

*

 _Brendon's mom is silent after he tells her there are others and that he's going to find them. When he hangs up, his fingers ache with how tight they were wrapped around his phone. The echo of her hesitation, her reluctance, rings in his ears as he heads back to the departure gate._

He catches sight of Shane and something gives in his chest. There's a grin, familiar, and a hand wave. Spencer is right behind him and he's doing that thing, studying Brendon like he's trying to read his mind. It's unsettling, but Spencer's eyes light up as he looks away, laughing at something Shane says to him. Brendon falters to a stop, bites his lip and watches the two of them.

Brendon has no idea what the hell is going on with the three of them, but for the first time in his life, there's possibly some answers waiting. He's not sure if he's going to like what they find, if they find anything at all. But it's Shane _and_ Spencer _and at least he's got that going for the whole situation._

Shane waves at him again and Spencer's giving him that 'hurry up, ass' look. He grins, shoving the phone in his pocket and moves forward.

~*~

  
END, THE FIRST.

  
[Fanmix](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/13603.html)


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